!r° 


LEISURE    HOUR    SERIES 


ON  THE  EVE 

A  TALE 

BY 

TYAN  S.  TURG^NIEFF 

TRANSLATED    FROM   THE    RUSSIAN    BY 

C.    E.    TURNER 

English  Lector  in  the  University  of  St.  Petersburg 
Author  of  "  Our  Great  Writers,'1'1  etc 

AMERICAN    EDITION    WITH   AMENDMENTS 


NEW    YORK 

HENRY    HOI/T  AND    COMPANY 
1875 


PRESERVATION 

COPY  ADDED       * 
ORIGINAL  TO  BE 
RETAINED 

NOV  2  2;  1995 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

HOLT  &  WILLIAMS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


JOHN  F.  TROW  &  Sow,  PRINTERS, 
205-213  EAST  I2TH  ST.,  NEW  YORK. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

The  Two  Friends I 

CHAPTER  II. 
4  Bewitching  Zoe," 15 

CHAPTER  III. 
Nicholas  Artemvitch  Stachoff 19 

CHAPTER  IV. 
An  Artist's  Aspirations 25 

CHAPTER  V. 
Disappointed  Hopes 33 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Ellen's  Characteristic  Singularity 42 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Bersieneff's  Interview  with  Insaroff 49 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Youthful  Impropriety 55 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  Hopeless  Case 64 


iv  Contents. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PAGE. 

A  Bulgarian's  Wrongs 70 

CHAPTER  XL 
Insaroff 's  Work 78 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Hero  Insaroff 85 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Disappearance 92 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Insaroff 's  Interview  with  Ellen 97 

CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Picnic 104 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Ellen's  Journal 123 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Silent  Love 130 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Language  of  Love 139 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Joyful  Assurance 148 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Gentlemanly  Revenge 154 


Contents. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

PAGB. 

Reactionary  Feeling 159 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  New  Bridegroom 162 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
An  Unexpected  Visitor 171 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Perplexity,  and  its  Serious  Results 180 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Sick-room 186 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Good  News 195 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
Convalescence 199 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
Repeated  Vows 202 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
A  Discovery 210 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
The  Storm  Bursts 218 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Maternal  Affection 230 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 
The  Parting  Hour 235 


vi  Contents. 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

j,-.^*                                          PAGE. 
A  Visit  to  Venice..,......,,... 242 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
Death 257 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 
Departure  from  Venice 265 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
Conclusion 269 


ON  THE; EVE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE     TWO      FRIENDS. 

ON  one  of  the  hottest  days  in  the  summer  of  1853, 
two  young  men  were  lolling  beneath  the  branches 
of  a  lofty  lime  tree  that  grew  on  the  banks  of  the 
river  Moscow,  not  far  from  Koontsoff.  One  of  them, 
seemingly  about  twenty-three,  tall  and  swarthy,  with  a 
sharp  and  slightly  curved  nose,  lofty  forehead,  and  a 
quiet  smile  perpetually  playing  on  his  thick  lips,  lay 
on  his  back,  musingly  gazing  into  the  distance,  as  he 
half  closed  his  small  grey  eyes.  The  other  lay  on  his 
breast,  his  head  propped  up  with  both  his  hands,  and, 
like  his  friend,  gazing  at  the  scene  that  stretched  be 
fore  him.  He  was  three  years  older  than  his  com 
panion,  though  he  looked  much  younger;  his  mous 
tache  had  only  just  begun  to  sprout,  and  his  chin  was 
slightly  covered  with  a  fine  down.  There  was  some 
thing  of  the  prettiness  of  a  child  about  him,  a  kind 
of  pleasing  elegance  in  the  youthful  features  of  his 
plump,  fresh  face,  in  his  soft  brown  eyes,  his  ruddy 


2  On  the  Eve. 

pouting  lips  and  delicate  white  hands.  His  whole 
appearance  spoke  of  that  joyous  health  and  careless 
self-confidence  and  self-indulgence  which  form  the 
charm  of  youth.  He  glanced  about  him,  smiled,  and 
coquetitijstily  propped, ;:u^;'his  head  in  the  way  that 
boys  ,who  know  fhaf  they  are  pleasant  to  look  at,  are 
wont.to'doV  :  'He'v/ks  d'raSsefd  'in  a  plain  white  paletot, 
made  in  the  shape  of  a  blouse,  a  blue  handkerchief 
was  tied  loosely  round  his  neck,  and  a  crushed  straw 
hat  lay  on  the  grass  by  his  side. 

In  comparison  with  him  his  companion  looked  an 
old  man,  and  no  one  who  observed  his  position  could 
ever  have  imagined  that  he  was  enjoying  himself,  and 
was  thoroughly  at  his  ease.  He  was  lying  in  the  most 
awkward  of  postures :  his  head,  which  was  broad  at 
the  top,  but  gradually  sharpened  towards  the  chin,  sat 
awkwardly  on  his  long  neck :  there  was  an  awkward 
ness  in  the  way  he  dangled  his  hands,  in  his  huge  body 
tightly  squeezed  into  a  short  black  surtout,  in  his  long 
feet  and  gawky  legs,  which  were  exactly  like  the  hind- 
legs  of  a  dragon-fly.  And  yet  with  all  this  he  bore 
about  him  the  signs  of  an  educated  man ;  there  was 
an  air  of  gentlemanliness  in  his  very  awkwardness, 
and  his  face,  though  far  from  handsome,  and  even 
somewhat  comical,  wore  the  expression  of  thought 
and  of  goodness.  His  name  was  Andrew  Petrovitch 
Bersieneff;  that  of  his  companion,  the  light-haired 
young  man,  was  Paul  Jakovlevitch  Shoubine. 

"  Why   don't  you  lie   on  your  breast,  as  I  do  ? " 


On  the  Eve.  3 

asked  Shoubine ;  "  it  is  much  better  so,  particularly 
if  you  bring  your  legs  together,  and  knock  your  heels 
against  each  other,  this  way.  Put  your  nose  down  to 
the  grass, — you  get  tired  of  gazing  at  the  landscape, — 
and  watch  that  frightened  maybug — see  how  it  crawls 
along  this  blade  of  grass — or  that  ant  there  which  is 
so  full  of  business.  Really,  it  is  much  better  to  lie 
like  this.  But  you,  oh,  you  have  put  on  quite  the 
pseudo-classical  pose,  like  a  ballet-girl  as  she  leans 
over  a  pasteboard  crag.  You  should  recollect  that 
you  have  now  a  full  right  to  breathe  at  your  ease.  Is 
it  nothing  that  you  have  come  out  third  in  the  class- 
list  ?  Rest,  sir !  leave  off  your  fine  attitudes,  and 
stretch  your  legs  !  " 

Shoubine  delivered  this  speech  through  his  nose, 
in  a  half-idle,  half-mocking  tone, — spoiled  children 
talk  in  this  way  to  friends  who  bring  them  sweetmeats ; 
and  without  waiting  for  an  answer  went  on — 

"  What  strikes  me  most  in  ants,  beetles,  and  others 
of  the  insect  gentry,  is  their  extraordinary  seriousness. 
They  run  backwards  and  forwards  with  as  much  im 
portance  as  if  their  lives  were  of  the  slightest  value. 
And  then,  at  the  very  moment  when  man,  the  lord  of 
creation  and  paragon  of  creatures,  is  looking  down 
upon  them  from  his  lofty  eminence,  a  tiny  gnat  will 
settle  on  the  nose  of  this  same  lord  of  creation,  and 
make  use  of  it  for  purposes  of  nourishment.  There 
is  rank  offence  in  all  this.  And  yet,  pray,  in  what  is 
their  life  worse  than  ours  ?  And  why  may  they  not  give 


On  the  Eve. 


themselves  airs  like  ourselves  ?  Ah  philosopher,  solve 
me  that  question.  What !  are  you  silent  ?  " 

"What  were  you  saying?"  muttered  Bersieneff, 
rousing  himself  from  his  doze. 

"  What  was  I  saying  ?  "  repeated  Shoubine ;  "  your 
friend  talks  philosophy  to  you,  and  you  don't  even 
listen  to  him." 

"I  was  admiring  the  view.  Look,  with  what  a 
warm  glow  those  fields  glisten  in  the  sun."  Bersieneff 
lisped  a  little  when  he  spoke. 

"  The  great  thing  is  colour,"  said  Shoubine.  "  In 
one  word,  colour  is — nature  !  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  more  enthusiastic  about  all  that 
than  I :  it  is  in  your  line — you  are  an  artist." 

"  No,  it  is  not  at  all  in  my  line,"  answered  Shou 
bine,  as  he  put  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head.  "  I 
am  a  mere  butcher;  my  business  is  entirely  in  flesh, 
to  mould  flesh,  shoulders,  arms,  legs :  but  there  is  no 
form  in  all  that,  no  harmony  —  mere  dismembering 
and  hacking." 

"  No ;  even  in  that  there  is  beauty,"  remarked 
Bersieneff.  "  By  the  way,  did  you  finish  that  stat 
uette  ?  " 

"  Which  ?  " 

"The  child  and  goat." 

"  Sent  it  to  the  devil,  to  the  devil,"  exclaimed 
Shoubine,  in  a  drawling  tone.  "  I  compared  it  with 
nature,  with  the  old  masters,  with  the  antique,  and 
broke  my  rubbish  to  pieces.  You  show  me  this  view, 


On  the  Eve.  « 

V 

and  say,  There  is'  real  beauty.  Of  coutfge  there  is  beauty 
in  everything,  there  is  even  beauty  in  your  npS&ySt? 
there  is  no  overlooking  any  beauty.  The  old  mas 
ters — they  never  hunted  after  it ;  it  came  of  itself  into 
their  compositions,  God  knows  whence,  from  heaven 
or  elsewhere.  The  whole  world  belonged  to  them  ; 
but  we  are  unable  to  clasp  its  broad  space ;  our  arms 
are  too  Short.  We  throw  out  our  miserable  little  fish 
ing-rod  towards  one  point,  provided  it  is  near  at  hand, 
a-ftd  wait — there  is  a  nibble,  bravo  !  but  if  there  is  no 
nibble " 

Shoubine  pushed  out  his  tongue  as  he  spoke. 

"  Peace,  peace,"  Bersieneff  answered.  "  All  that 
is  mere  paradox.  If  you  have  no  feeling  for  beauty, 
do  not  love  her  in  every  form,  wherever  you  may  find 
her,  beauty  will  be  forever  a  stranger  to  you  and  your 
art.  If  a  lovely  landscape  or  lovely  music  suggest 
nothing  to  your  soul,  I  would  rather  say,  if  you  do 
not  feel  with  them " 

"  Oh,  you  co-feeler  !  "  *  Shoubine  cried  out,  smil 
ing  at  the  new  word  he  had  coined,  though  Bersieneff 
continued  thoughtful.  "  No,  brother,"  Shoubine  rat 
tled  on,  you  are  a  savant,  a  philosopher,  third  in  the 
Moscow  University  class-list  ;  and  for  me,  a  poor 
devil  of  a  student  who  never  took  any  degree  at  all,  to 
dispute  with  you  is  absurd  and  presumptuous ;  but  I 

*  In  the  original  Russian  Bersieneff  has  used  the  word  sotch* 
uvitviesh  (you  sympathise  with),  upon  which  Shoubine  is  made  to 
coin  the  substantive  sotcfuivstuick. 


6  On  the  Eve. 

tell  you  what,  except  in  art,  I  love  beauty  only  in 
woman,  in  a  young  girl,  and  that  only  since — 

He  turned  over  on  his  back,  and  put  his  hands 
under  his  head.  There  was  a  short  silence.  The 
quiet  of  the  sultry  noon  lay  heavy  on  the  glaring 
drowsy  landscape. 

"  Talking  of  women,"  Shoubine  began  again,  "  how 
is  it  that  nobody  takes  Stachoff  in  hand  ?  You  saw 
him  when  you  were  in  Moscow  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  The  old  man  has  grown  a  regular  fool.  The 
whole  day  he  sits  coddling  his  Augustina  :  it  is  dull 
work  even  for  him,  but  there  he  sits.  They  look  at  one 
another — so  stupidly.  Is  it  not  wonderful  ?  Providence 
might  have  blessed  him  with  the  very  best  of  wives ; 
no  matter,  it  would  have  been  all  thrown  away  on  him, 
unless  he  had  his  dear  Augustina  into  the  bargain.  I 
know  nothing  more  hideous  than  her  cluck  face.  A 
few  days  ago  I  took  a  caricature  of  her  in  plaster,  in  the 
Dantesque  style.  It  didn't  come  out  badly  :  I  will 
show  it  you." 

"  And  Ellen's  bust  is  getting  on  ?  "  asked  Ber- 
sieneff. 

"  No,  brother  ;  it  has  come  to  a  stand-still.  That 
is  a  face  to  drive  one  to  despair.  You  see,;  its  traits 
are  so  fine,  regular,  and  severe,  that  you  fancy  they  are 
not  difficult  to  catch.  But  it  is  just  the  contrary  :  it  is 
a  face  you  can't  take.  Have  you  observed  her  well 
when  she  is  listening  ?  Not  a  single  feature  but  is 


On  the  Eve.  ^ 

immovable,  only  the  expression  of  her  glance  is  perpet 
ually  changing,  and  with  that  her  whole  face  changes. 
What  can  you  expect  a  sculptor,  and  a  poor  one  in  the 
bargain,  to  do  with  a  face  like  that  ?  A  charming  crea 
ture,  a  strange  being,"  he  added  after  a  short  pause. 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  strange  girl,  "  repeated  BersienefT. 

"  And  she  to  be  the  daughter  of  Nicholas  Stachoff ! 
After  that,  don't  talk  of  blood  and  race.  And  what 
makes  it  more  absurd  is  that  she  really  is  his  daughter, 
like  him,  and  like  her  mother.  I  respect  Anne  Vasil- 
ievna  with  all  my  heart ;  she  has  been  very  good  to 
me,  but  she  is  for  ever  whining.  Whence  did  Ellen 
inherit  that  soul  of  hers  ?  who  lighted  up  its  fire  ?  Well, 
my  dear  philosopher,  there  is  another  problem  for  you 
to  solve." 

But  the  "  philosopher  "  again  failed  to  give  any  an 
swer.  In  general,  Bersieneff  was  not  addicted  to  much 
chattering  ,  and  when  he  did  speak,  expressed  himself 
with  difficulty  and  hesitation,  without  the  slightest  ges 
ticulation:  but  just  now  a  peculiar  fit  of  taciturnity 
had  come  over  him,  a  mood  of  quietness  that  seemed 
to  spring  from  weariness  or  from  grief.  He  had  not 
long  quitted  Moscow,  after  a  long  course  of  studies 
which  had  occupied  him  many  hours  every  day.  His 
present  inactivity,  the  pure  luscious  air  of  the  country, 
the  knowledge  of  having  successfully  terminated  his 
University  career,  the  whimsical  and  unceasing  chatter 
of  his  friend,  the  sudden  mention  of  one  who.\^as  dear 
to  him — all  these  varied,  but  at  the  same  time  concur- 


8  On  the  Eve. 

rent,  circumstances  served  to  produce  in  him  one  com 
mon  feeling  that  made  him  at  once  listless,  agitated, 
and  helpless.  He  was,  moreover,  naturally  of  an  ex 
tremely  nervous  temperament. 

It  was  cool  and  quiet  beneath  the  lime  tree  :  the 
very  flies  and  bees  that  were  fluttering  about  in  its 
shadows  seemed  to  buzz  more  quietly  than  elsewhere  : 
there  was  no  breeze  to  stir  the  thin  blades  of  grass 
with  their  silver  tints  :  the  high  stalks  reared  immov 
ably  as  though  they  were  enchanted  ;  while  on  the 
lower  branches  of  the  lime  tree  hung,  as  if  entranced 
in  death,  tiny  clusters  of  yellow  blossoms.  At  each 
breath  one  inhaled  the  sweet  fragrance  of  the  flowers 
that  grew  in  rich  abundance  on  every  side.  In  the 
distance,  beyond  the  river,  as  far  as  the  horizon 
stretched,  everything  was  glittering  beneath  a  burn 
ing  sun  ;  at  rare  intervals  a  light  breeze  would  put 
into  motion  and  multiply  the  sparkling  beams  of  light ; 
a  radiant  vapor  hung  tremulously  over  the  earth. 
Not  a  bird  was  to  be  heard  ;  they  were  all  hushed  in 
the  sultriness  of  the  noon  ;  but  the  crickets  kept  chirp 
ing  in  harmonious  unison  ;  and  it  was  pleasant,  sitting 
there  in  the  quiet  cool,  to  hear  those  sharp,  lively 
notes  which  invited  one  to  sleep  and  dreamy  musing. 

"  Have  you  ever  noticed,"  began  Bersieneff  again, 
"  what  a  strange  feeling  Nature  awakens  in  us  ?  All 
in  Nature  is  full,  clear,  or  rather  self-sustained,  and 
this  we.  easily  understand,  for  it  is  thereby  she  wins 
our  .love  ;  and  y°t  at  the  same  time  she  inspires  us,  or 


On  the  hve.  9 

at  least  it  is  so  with  me,  with  a  feeling  of  disquiet; 
alarm,  even  anguish.  Why  is  this  ?  Is  it  that  in  her 
we  are  driven  to  recognize  our  own  emptiness,  or 
that  we  find  no  satisfaction  in  that  which  delights  her, 
having  need  of  something  over  and  beyond  what  she 
can  afford  us  ?  " 

"  Hem  !  "  replied  Shoubine,  "  I  will  tell  you  whence 
it  proceeds.  You  have  described  the  feeling  of  a  man 
who  does  not  live,  but  only  observes,  and  thereby 
grows  callous.  Observe  what  ?  Live  for  yourself  and 
be  young  !  knock  as  long  as  you  like  at  Nature's 
door,  she  will  never  give  you  an  intelligible  answer — 
for  the  best  of  all  reasons,  she  is  dumb.  There  may 
be  a  screech,  perhaps  a  discord,  but  no  melody  is  to 
be  got  out  of  her  chords.  A  living  soul,  that  is  respons 
ive  ;  and  above  all,  a  woman's  soul.  And  that  is  why, 
my  good  brother,  I  advise  you  to  fall  in  love  :  all 
these  anxious  feelings  will  vanish  at  once.  That  is 
your  need,  to  use  your  own  expression.  All  your  an 
guish  and  disquiet — all  that  is  merely  hunger  after 
your  kind.  Give  the  stomach  its  natural  food,  and 
everything  is  in  order.  So  give  up  idealising  ;  be  a 
body,  my  good  friend.  And  then  what  is  nature  ;  of 
what  use  to  us  ?  Listen  yourself :  Love — what  a 
mighty  burning  word !  Nature — what  a  cold  formal 
expression  !  And  so  to  your  health  fair  Mary"  sang 
Shoubine.  "  Oh,  no,"  he  quickly  added,  "  not  Mary  : 
but  that  is  all  one.  Vous  me  comprenez" 

Bersieneff  slightly  raised  himself,  and  rested  his 


io  On  the  Eve. 

chin  on  his  hands.  "  What  is  there  to  laugh  at  ?  " 
he  muttered,  without  looking  at  his  companion ; 
"  why  that  bantering  tone  ?  Yes,  you  are  right : 
love  is  a  grand  word  ;  but  what  kind  of  love  do  you 
mean  ? " 

Shoubine  also  raised  himself  up  a  little.  "  What 
kind  of  love  ?  Any  you  like,  only  let  it  be  for  a  pretty 
face  !  I  confess,  I  don't  believe  in  different  kinds  of 
love.  If  you  were  only  in  love " 

"  With  all  my  soul,"  interrupted  Bersieneff. 

"  Well,  that  is  understood :  the  soul  is  not  an  ap 
ple — you  can't  cut  it  into  halves.  If  yon  were  but  in 
love,  all  would  be  right  with  you.  Not  that  I  meant 
to  joke.  My  heart  is  filled  with  such  tenderness — it 
is  so  soft.  I  only  wished  to  explain  why  Nature  acts 
on  us  as  you  say  she  does.  It  is  because  she  awakens 
in  us  the  need  of  love,  but  is  unable  of  herself  to  sat 
isfy  that  need.  She  gently  pushes  us  to  other,  living 
arms  ;  but  we  do  not  understand  her  design,  and  wait 
idly  for  something  to  come  from  herself.  Ah,  An 
drew,  Andrew,  that  sun  above  us  is  beautiful,  that 
sky — all,  all  around  us  is  beautiful,  and  yet  you  are 
sad.  *  But  if  at  this  moment  you  were  resting  your 
hand  in  the  hand  of  a  woman  you  loved,  if  that  hand 
and  that  woman  were  wholly,  solely  yours,  if  \  ou 
gazed  with  her  eyes,  felt  not  your  own  but  her  feel 
ings, — then  Nature  would  no  longer  awaken  in  you 
sadness  or  disquiet;  Nature  herself  would  be  glad, 
and  sing  for  very  joy,  would  echo  your  hymn,  since 


On  the  Eve.  n 

you   yourself   would   give   to   her,   who    is  dumb,  a 
tongue !"; 

Shoubine  in  his  enthusiasm  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
walked  backwards  and  forwards,  as  he  spoke;  but 
Bersieneff  lowered  his  head,  and  his  face  became 
tinged  with  a  passing  blush. 

"  I  do  not  quite  agree  with  you,"  he  said ;  "  Nature 
does  not  always  inspire  us  with — love  ;  "  he  brought 
out  the  word  hesitatingly :  "  she   also  threatens,  she 
reminds  us  of  awful,  yes,  inscrutable  mysteries.  Is  she  • 
not  destined  to  absorb  us  ?    will  she  not  hereafter  ab-   v 
sorb  us  forever?    In  her  is  life  and  death;  in  her,  v 
death  speaks  no  less  distinctly  than  life." 

•'  And  in  love,  too,  is  life  and  death,"  interrupted 
Shoubine. 

"And  then,"  continued  Bersieneff,  "when,  for 
instance,  I  am  standing  on  an  autumn  day  in  some 
forest  or  green  wood,  and  hear  the  romantic  sounds 
of  Oberon's  enchanted  hour  " — Bersieneff  seemed  to 
be  ashamed  as  he  brought  out  this  elegant  phrase — • 
"  is  that  too  really " 

"  Thirst  for  love,  -thirst  for  happiness  —  nothing 
else,"  Shoubine  chimed  in.  "  I  too  know  those  sounds, 
I  too  know  the  sensation  of  longing  that  comes  over 
the  soul  as  one  lies  in  the  shade  of  some  wood,  or  of 
an  evening  in  the  open  field,  when  the  sun  has  already 
gone  down,  and  a  hot  vapour  hangs  over  the  stream 
that  flows  by.  But  from  forest,  from  stream,  from 
earth,  from  sky,  from  each  flying  cloud,  from  every 


12  -  On  the  Eve. 

blade  of  grass,  I  long  to  get  happiness,  and  in  all  1 
recognize  its  presence,  and  hear  its  invocation.  My 
god,  my  joyous  god,  and  gay  :  I  should  like  to  begin  a 
poem  in  that  way  ;  confess,  it  would  make  an  excel 
lent  opening  line :  the  only  difficulty  would  be  to  find 
a  second  to  match  it.  Happiness !  happiness !  let 
that  be  our  aim  whilst  life  is  ours,  strength  remains, 
and  trouble  has  not  yet  come  upon  us.  Confound  it !  " 
continued  Shoubine,  with  sudden  energy,  "  we  are 
young,  not  greybeards  nor  fools ;  we  will  conquer 
happiness  for  ourselves." 

He  pushed  back  his  hair,  and  with  a  look  of  con 
fidence,  almost  of  defiance,  gazed  upwards  towards 
the  sky.  Bersieneff  looked  quietly  at  his  friend. 

"  Is  there  no  higher  good  than  happiness  ?  "  he 
asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"As  what  for  example  ?  "  was  Shoubine's  rejoin 
der. 

"Well,  we  are  both,  as  you  say,  fine  young  fel 
lows — granted ;  and  each  of  us  is  seeking  happi 
ness  for  himself.  But  is  this  word  happiness  one  of 
those  that  can  ever  inspire  us  with  good,  make 
men  united,  friends,  and  fellow-helpers  ?  Is  it  not 
an  egotistical  word  ?  does  it  not  tend  to  separate  and 
divide  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  know  any  that  conciliate  and  unite  ?* 

"  Many,  and  so  do  you." 

"  As  what,  pray  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  might  mention  art — and  do  not  forget 


On  the  Eve.  13 

you  are    an  artist ;  there  is  also  fatherland,  liberty, 
justice." 

"  And  love  ?  "   asked  Shoubine. 

"  Love,  too,  is  a  word  that  serves  to  knit  men  to 
gether  ;  but  not  the  kind  you  are  thirsting  for,  not 
that  love  which  is  mere  enjoyment,  but  love  that  is  a 
sacrifice  of  self." 

Shoubine  frowned  at  this.  "  That  is  all  very  well 
for  German  philosophers,"  he  said  ;  "  for  my  part,  I 
wish  to  love  for  my  own  enjoyment ;  I  must  always  be 
number  one." 

"  Number  one,"  repeated  Bersieneff.  "  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  to  make  one's  self  number  two  is  the 
real  object  of  life." 

"  If  all  were  to  follow  your  advice,"  muttered  Shou 
bine,  with  a  sour  grimace,"  no  one  would  eat  pine 
apples  ;  every  one  would  be  for  giving  them  to  his 
neighbor." 

"  That  simply  proves  pine-apples  to  be  super 
fluities  :  but  do  not  fear  ;  there  will  always  be  people 
ready  enough  to  snatch  the  very  bread  from  a  neigh 
bor's  mouth." 

The  two  friends  were  silent  for  a  while. 

"  A 'few  days  ago  I  came  across  InsarofT  again," 
Bersieneff  began  ;  "  I  asked  him  to  come  and  see  me. 
I  should  like  to  introduce  him  to  you  and  to  the  Sta- 
choffs." 

"Who  islnsaroff?  Ah,  that  Servian  or  Bulgarian 
of  whom  you  spoke  to  me  once  ;  that  patriot  of  yours  ! 


14  On  the  Eve. 

Is  it  not  he  who  has  imbued  you  with  all  these  fine 
philosophical  ideas  ?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"  There  is  something  extraordinary  about  him  eh  ?" 

;'Yes." 

"  He  is  learned  ?  a  genius  ?  " 

"  Learned  ? — yes.  A  genius  ? — I  don't  know,  I 
think  not." 

"  No  ?  What,  then,  is  there  remarkable  in  him  ?" 

"  You  will  see  :  but  it  is  time  to  be  going,  I  think. 
Anne  Vasilievna  will  be  waiting  for  us.  What  o'clock 
is  it." 

"  Three.  Let  us  be  off.  How  sultry  it  is  !  This 
talk  of  ours  has  put  my  blood  into  a  heat.  And  there 
was  a  moment,  when  you  also — I  am  not  an  artist  for 
nothing,  I  notice  everything.  Now,  confess,  you  are 
not  insensible  to  a  woman's  charms  ?  " 

Shoubine  tried  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  friend's 
face  ;  but  Bersieneff  turned  aside  as  he  came  from 
under  the  lime  tree.  Shoubine  followed  with  a  care 
lessly  graceful  saunter.  There  was  no  ease  in  Ber- 
sieneffs  movements  :  he  carried  his  shoulders  far  too 
high,  and  stretched  out  his  neck  in  a  most  ungainly 
fashion.  But  in  spite  of  this,  he  appeared  more  comine 
il faut  than  Shoubine, — we  had  said,  more  gentle 
manly,  but  this  word  has  been  so  terribly  hackneyed 
of  late  by  us  Russians. 


On  the  Eve.  15 


CHAPTER  II. 

"BEWITCHING    ZOE." 

THE  young  men  proceeded  along  the  bank  of  the 
river  Moscow.  A  fresh  breeze  blew  from  the 
river,  and  there  was  a  pleasant  sound  in  the  soft  rip 
ple  of  its  stream. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  bath,"  said  Shoubine, 
"but  am  afraid  of  being  late.  Just  look  at  the 
stream ;  does  it  not  seem  as  if  it  were  beckoning  us 
to  plunge  in  ?  The  ancient  Greeks  would  have  made 
it  the  haunt  of  a  nymph.  But  we  are  no  Greeks,  O 
nymph,  we  are  only  thick-skinned  Scythians." 

"  We,  too,  have  our  water-naiads,"  interrupted 
Bersieneff. 

"Away  with  you  and  your  naiads  !  of  what  use  to 
me,  a  sculptor,  are  these  sorry  offsprings  of  an  ill- 
cultured  northern  fancy,  these  hideous  figures  born  in 
the  suffocating  heat  of  an  isbah*  worthy  types  of  our 
dark  winter  nights  ?  Give  me  only  light,  space.  Ah  ! 
when  shall  I  be  able  to  go  to  Italy  ?  When " 

"  You  wish  to  say  when  you  were  in  Little  Russia. 

*  Isbah  :  a  peasant's  hut. 


1 6  On  the  Eve. 

"  It  is  a  shame,  Andrew,  to  reproach  me  with  my 
thoughtless  stupidity,  for  which,  without  your  reproofs, 
I  am  heartily  sorry.  Yes,  I  acted  like  a  fool :  that 
good  soul,  Anne  Vasilievna,  gave  me  my  passage- 
money  to  Italy,  and  I  must  needs  set  off  to  Cochlam, 
eat  dumplings  there,  and " 

"  Spare  us  the  rest  of  your  confessions,  I  pray," 
interrupted  Bersieneff. 

"  And  yet,  believe  me,  the  money  was  not  alto 
gether  ill-spent.  I  saw  there  such  types,  particularly 
among  the  women.  Of  course,  I  know  that  out  of 
Italy  there  is  no  salvation." 

"  You  will  go  to  Italy,"  continued  Bersieneff,  "  and 
there  you  will — do  nothing.  You  will  flutter  a  little, 
try  your  wings ;  but  as  to  flying,  we  know  you  too 
well  to  expect  that." 

"  Stavasseur,  however,  succeeded  in  flying;  nor 
was  he  the  only  one.  And  if  I  don't  fly,  why  that 
only  proves  me  to  be  a  sea-penguin  without  wings. 
Here  I  am  stifled  ;  I  long  for  Italy,"  continued  Shou- 
bine  ;  "  there  is  sun,  there  is  beauty." 

At  this  moment  a  young  girl,  in  a  broad-brimmed 
straw  hat,  was  to  be  seen  coming  along  the  path  on 
which  the  two  friends  were  walking. 

"  But  what  do  I  see  ?  Even  here  beauty  comes  to 
meet  us !  Bewitching  Zoe  approaches  to  welcome 
the  humble  artist !  "  cried  Shoubine,  as  he  waved  his 
hat  with  a  theatrical  air. 

The   young   girl,  whose    appearance   had   called 


On  the  Eve.  17 

forth  this  tirade,  stood  still,  held  up  her  fore-finger 
threateningly,  and  beckoning  to  the  young  men,  said, 
in  a  shrill,  almost  squeaky,  voice,  "  Why  don't  you 
come  to  dinner  ?  The  cloth  is  laid." 

"  What  do  I  hear  ?  "  exclaimed  Shoubine,  clasping 
his  hands  :  "  is  it  possible  that  in  the  heat  like  this 
you  have  condescended  to  seek  us  out  ?  Is  this  the 
import  of  your  gracious  speech  ?  Answer  •  or  rather, 
say  not  a  word,  lest  shame  at  our  unworthiness  slay 
me  instantly."' 

"  Leave  off  your  fooling,  Paul,"  replied  the  girl, 
in  a  vexed  tone ;  "  why  is  it  that  you  can  never 
speak  to  me  sensibly  ?  I  am  very  angry  ?  "  she  con 
tinued  with  an  affected  coquetry,  and  bit  her  lips. 

"  You  cannot  be  angry  with  me.  heavenly  Zoe : 
you  cannot  wish  to  thrust  me  down  the  murky  abyss 
of  dull  despair.  To  speak  seriously  is  not  in  my 
power ;  there  is  nothing  serious  about  me." 

The  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  turned  to 
Bersieneff.  "  He  is  always  so :  he  treats  me  as  if  I 
were  a  child,  whilst  I  am  already  in  my  nineteenth 
year.  I  am  now  a  grown-up  woman." 

"  Oh,  heavens  !  "  groaned  Shoubine,  and  cast  his 
eyes  to  the  ground,  while  Bersieneff  smiled  silently. 

The  girl  stamped  her  foot  with  impatience. 
"  Paul,  I  really  am  angry  !  "  and  then  she  went  on, 
"  Ellen  started  with  me,  but  she  stopped  in  the  gar 
den  :  she  found  it  too  hot ;  but  I  don't  care  for  the 
heat.  Let  us  be  going." 


1 8  On  the  Eve. 

She  went  forward  along  the  path,  and  there  was 
something  graceful  in  her  movement  as  she  pushed 
back  the  long  soft  locks  from  her  face  with  her  pretty 
little  hand,  on  which  she  wore  a  black  mitten. 

The  two  friends  followed, — Shoubine  now  press 
ing  his  hands  to  his  heart,  now  raising  them  above  his 
head,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  walk  stopped  before 
one  of  the  many  cottages  that  are  to  be  found  in  the. 
neighborhood  of  KoontsofT.  It  was  a  small  wooden 
house,  with  a  story  built  on  the  roof,  and  painted 
rose-color,  standing  in  the  midst  of  a  garden,  and 
peeping  out  as  it  were  with  a  naive  look  from  among 
the  green  trees.  Zoe  was  the  first  to  arrive  at  the 
wicket,  opened  it,  and  running  into  the  garden,  cried 
out,  "  I  have  brought  the  rovers  home."  A  young 
girl  with  a  pale  but  expressive  countenance  rose  up 
from  a  bench  that  was  placed  by  the  side  of  the  path, 
and  on  the  steps  leading  up  to  the  house  there  ap 
peared  a  lady  in  a  lilac  silk  dress  and  with  a  cambric 
handkerchief  thrown  over  her  head  to  protect  her 
from  the  heat,  who  received  the  party  with  a  languid 
smile. 


On  the  Eve.  19 


CHAPTER  III. 

NICHOLAS    ARTEMVITCH    STACHOFF. 

ANNE  VASILIEVNA  STACHOFF,  whose  maid 
en  name  was  Shoubine,  when  in  her  seventeenth 
year,  was  left  an  orphan,  and  heiress  to  a  considera 
ble  estate.  She  had  two  relatives,  the  one  on  her 
father's  side  as  poor  as  the  other  on  her  mother's  side 
was  rich  :  Senator  Volgine  and  Prince  Tchikurasoff. 
The  Prince  was  appointed  her  guardian,  placed  her 
in  one  of  the  best  schools  at  Moscow,  and  when  she 
had  finished  her  education,  received  her  into  his  own 
house.  She  lived  in  grand  style,  and  during  the 
winter  gave  numerous  balls.  Anne  Vasilievna's  fu 
ture  husband,  Nicholas  Artemvitch  Stachoff,  won  her 
heart  at  one  of  these  balls,  where  she  was  dressed 
"  in  a  delicious  rose-colored  robe  with  a  sweet  coiffure 
of  small  roses."  This  coiffure  was  ever  afterwards 
carefully  preserved.  Nicholas  Artemvitch  Stachoff. 
the  son  of  a  retired  captain  who  upon  being  wound 
ed  when  only  nineteen,  had  obtained  a  tolerably  lu 
crative  situation  at  St.  Petersburg,  was  admitted,  in 


20  On  the  Eve. 

his  sixteenth  year,  into  the  cadet  school,  and  subse 
quently  entered  the  Guards.  He  was  a  handsome 
:  wuil-made  youth,  and  considered  to  be  one  of  the 
best  partners  that  could  be  secured  at  the  balls  to 
which  his  friends,  who  were  all  of  the  middle  class, 
gladly  invited  him ;  his  position  not  being  such  as  to 
secure  him  admittance  to  the  highest  society.  From 
his  youth  he  had  two  ambitions — to  become  aide-de 
camp  to  the  Emperor,  and  to  marry  well.  The  first 
of  these  dreams  he  soon  abandoned,  but  its  surrend 
er  only  made  him  hold  the  more  obstinately  to  the 
second.  It  was  with  this  view  that  he  spent  each 
winter  in  Moscow.  He  spoke  French  with  tolerable 
fluency,  and  not  being  addicted  to  a  wild  life,  passed 
for  a  philosopher.  Though  only  an  ensign,  he  was 
wont  to  discuss  with  no  little  gravity  and  assurance 
such  deep  questions  as,  whether  a  man  in  the  course 
of  his  life  could  go  round  the  whole  world,  or  obtain 
a  knowledge  of  what  transpires  in  the  depths  of  the 
ocean, — and  invariably  decided  these  questions  in 
the  negative. 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  was  in  his  twenty-sixth  year 
when  he  "  made  a  good  catch,"  married  Anne  Vasi- 
lievena,  and  left  the  service  to  undertake  the  man 
agement  of  her  estate.  He  soon  grew  tired  of 
country  life,  and  removed  to  Moscow,  where  he  lived 
in  a  house  that  belonged  to  his  wife.  In  his  youth 
he  had  never  cared  for  cards,  but  he  now  began  to 


On  the  Eve. 

have  a  liking  for  loto,  or,  if  that 
eralasch*  Home-life  became  dull 
struck  up  an  intimacy  with  a  widow  of  German  ex- 
traction,  and  passed  nearly  all  his  time  with  her. 
The  summer  of  1853,  when  our  story  opens,  he  did 
not  spend  at  Koontsoff,  under  the  pretext  of  profiting 
by  the  mineral  waters  at  Moscow,  but  in  reality  be 
cause  he  could  not  tear  himself  away  from  the  fair 
widow.  Not  that  his  conversation  with  her  was,  as  a 
rule,  of  a  loving  kind  :  with  her  too  he  would  general 
ly  debate  learned  questions,  such  as  the  possibility 
of  foretelling  the  weather.  Some  of  his  friends  had 
given  him  the  name  of  le  frondeur,  which  pleased 
him  immensely.  "  Yes,"  he  muttered  to  himself  with 
a  complacent  smirk  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  "  I 
am  not  easily  satisfied;  you  can't  cheat  me."  His 
only  claim  to  the  title  consisted  in  this,  that  when  for 
example,  he  heard  the  word  "  nerves,"  he  would 
grandly  exclaim,  "  And  what  are  nerves  ?"  or  upon 
being  reminded  of  the  discoveries  of  astronomy, 
would  ask,  "  And  do  you  believe  in  astronomy  ?" 
But  if  he  wished  to  settle  an  antagonist  completely, 
he  invariably  answered  him  with  "  Yes,  all  that  is 
mere  declamation  !"  It  must  be  confessed  that  there 
were,  and  still  are,  many  who  regarded  a  sentence 
of  this  kind  as  irrefutable,  but  the  feeling  was  not 

*  A  game  at  cards  much  affected  in  Russia ;  it  is  very  simi 
lar  to  our  own  English  whist,  only  played  without  trumps. 


22  On  the  Eve. 

universal ;  and  Nicholas  Artemvitch  little  suspected 
that,  in  her  letters  to  her  cousin  Theodoline,  Augusti- 
na  constantly  styled  him,  "  My  little  simpleton." 

His  wife  was  a  little  thin  woman,  with  delicate 
features,  much  given  to  caprices  and  to  melancholy. 
Whilst  at  school,  she  devoted  herself  to  music  and 
reading  novels,  then  gave  up  both  ;  next  took  to  dress, 
but  soon  abandoned  that  whim ;  afterwards  occupied 
herself  with  the  education  of  her  daughter,  but  grow 
ing  tired  of  that,  handed  her  over  to  the  care  of  a 
governess ;  and  later  did  nothing  but  whine  and 
mope.  The  birth  of  Ellen  so  shattered  her  constitu 
tion,  that  all  hopes  of  being  a  mother  again  were  put 
an  end  to :  a  circumstance  to  which  Nicholas  Artem 
vitch  would  often  allude  in  justification  of  his  inti 
macy  with  Augustina.  Her  husband's  infidelity  was 
a  source  of  bitter  grief  to  the  poor  wife,  and  she  was 
particularly  hurt  when  on  one  occasion  he  took  a  pair 
of  grey  horses  out  of  her  own  stable  and  made  a 
present  of  them  to  the  German  widow.  In  his  pres 
ence  she  never  uttered  a  word  of  reproach,  but  in 
secret  would  complain  of  his  faithlessness  to  every 
one  in  the  house,  not  even  excepting  her  daughter. 
She  hated  visiting,  and  her  chief  pleasure  was  to  re 
ceive  friends,  with  whom  she  could  have  long  gossips, 
solitude  being  insupportable  to  her.  Hers  was  a  lov 
ing  and  tender  heart,  but  tli2  roughness  cf  life  soon 
broke  what  little  courage  she  ever  possessed. 

Paul  Jakovlevitch  Shoubine  was  her  second  cousin. 


On  the  Eve.  23 

His  father  served  in  Moscow.  His  brothers  entered 
the  Military  school ;  but  he  was  the  youngest,  of  a 
delicate  constitution  and  his  mother's  darling,  and 
consequently  remained  at  home.  Later  his  parents 
wished  to  send  him  to  the  university,  but  his  health 
was  so  weak  that  he  was  scarcely  able  to  finish  the 
gymnasium-course.  From  his  youth  he  had  exhibited 
a  talent  for  sculpture ;  and  Senator  Volgine,  on  see 
ing  one  of  his  statuettes  at  his  aunt's — he  was  then 
only  sixteen — declared  it  to  be  his  intention  to  foster 
the  young  genius.  The  sudden  death  of  Paul's  father 
was  near  changing  the  youth's  future  career.  The 
senator,  in  his  character  of  patron  of  genius,  made 
him  a  present  of  a  plaster  bust  of  Homer,  and  then 
withdrew  his  protection  ;  but  Anne  Vasilievna  gave 
him  some  money,  and,  though  it  "went  somewhat 
against  the  grain,  he  was  persuaded  to  enter  the  uni 
versity  as  a  student  in  the  faculty  of  medicine.  Paul 
did  not  feel  the  slightest  inclination  to  the  study  of 
medicine,  or,  in  fact,  to  any  of  the  sciences ;  but  cir 
cumstances  forbade  his  entering  any  other  class,  and 
he  had  moreover,  a  vague  hope  of  learning  anatomy 
in  this  way;  but  even  this  he  did  not  succeed  in  ac 
complishing,  was  plucked  at  his  examination,  and  in 
disgust  left  the  university  with  the  resolution  to  de 
vote  himself  exclusively  to  his  "  calling."  He  worked 
heartily  at  his  profession,  but  too  much  by  fits ;  hung 
about  the  environs  of  Moscow ;  modelled  and  drew 
the  portraits  of  many  of  the  peasant  girls  ;  made  sev- 


24  On  the  Eve. 

eral  friends,  chiefly  among  the  moneyless  classes, 
such  as  Italian  models  and  Russian  artists;  would 
not  hear  of  the  Academy,  and  openly  laughed  at  its 
professors.  He  possessed  a  certain  amount  of  talent, 
and  soon  became  known  at  Moscow.  His  mother,  a 
Parisienne  by  birth,  of  good  family,  an  excellent  and 
a  clever  woman,  fussed  and  busied  herself  about  his 
future  career,  being  immensely  proud  of  him ;  but 
she  died  while  still  young,of  consumption,  and  on  her 
death-bed  prayed  Anne  Vasilievna  to  take  him  under 
her  care.  He  was  then  in  his  twenty-second  year. 
Anne  fulfilled  her  friend's  last  prayer,  and  he  occu 
pied  a  small  room  in  a  wing  of  the  house. 


On  the  hve.  25 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  ARTIST'S  ASPIRATIONS. 

T  ET  us  go  to  dinner,"  said  the  mistress  of  the 
J — *  house,  in  a  fretful  tone.  "  You  sit  next  to  me, 
Zoe,"  she  continued  when  they  had  entered  the  dining- 
room  :  "and  you,  Ellen,  attend  to  our  guests;  and  as 
to  you,  Paul,  no  nonsense  or  teasing  of  Zoe,  for  my 
head  aches  terribly  to-day." 

Shoubine  once  more  turned  his  eyes  upwards,  and 
Zoe  answered  his  grimace  with  a  faint  smile.  This 
Zoe,  or  to  give  her  name  in  full,  Zoe  Nikitischna 
Miiller,  was  a  pretty,  slight-made  Russian-German 
girl,  with  thin  red  lips,  of  a  bland  complexion,  and 
slightly  freckled.  She  sang  a  few  Russian  songs  very 
creditably,  played  two  or  three  sentimental  pieces  on 
the  piano  with  tolerable  accuracy,  dressed  with  taste, 
though  rather  too  demurely  and  in  a  childish  fashion. 
Anne  Vasilievna  had  engaged  her  as  companion  to 
her  daughter,  and  she  almost  lived  in  the  house. 
Ellen  made  no  objection  to  this  arrangement,  though 
it  must  be  confessed  she  did  not  listen  with  much  at 
tention  to  the  edifying  remarks  which  Zoe  considered 
it  her  duty  to  make  whenever  they  were  alone. 


26  On  the  Eve. 

Dinner  lasted  a  rather  long  time.  Bersieneff 
.chatted  with  Ellen  about  university  life,  his  plans  and 
hopes  for  the  future  :  Shoubine,  who  ate  with  a  great 
relish  all  that  was  put  before  him,  listened  in  silence, 
now  and  then  casting  at  Zoe  a  comical  glance,  to 
which  her  only  answer  was  her  habitual  phlegmatic 
smile.  After  dinner,  Ellen,  accompanied  by  Bersie 
neff  and  Shoubine,  went  into  the  garden  :  Zoe  watched 
them  as  they  left  the  room,  and  then,  with  a  slight 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  sat  down  to  the  piano.  "  Why 
do  you  not  go  out  and  have  a  stroll  too  ? "  asked  Anne 
Vasilievna;  but  she  did  not  wait  for  a  reply,  and 
continued,  "  Play  some  melancholy  air." 

"  La  Derniere  Pensee  de  Weber  ?  "  asked  Zoe. 

"Ah,  yes,  Weber !"  murmured  Anne  Vasilievna, 
as  she  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  languidly  squeezed 
out  a  tear  or  two. 

In  the  meantime  Ellen  led  the  two  friends  to  an 
arbor  of  acacias,  with  a  wooden  table  in  the  centre, 
and  benches  placed  all  around.  Shoubine  fidgeted 
about  for  a  while,  and  then  whispering  to  them  to 
wait,  turned  back,  and  ran  to  his  room,  but  soon  re 
appeared  with  a  lump  of  clay,  and  at  once  began 
modelling  Zoe's  face,  turning  his  head  about,  mutter 
ing  to  himself,  and  laughing  during  the  operation. 

"  At  your  old  tricks  again,"  said  Ellen,  glancing 
over  his  shoulder  at  his  work ;  and  then  turning  to 
Bersieneff,  continued  the  conversation  they  had  begun 
at  the  dinner-table. 


Un  the  J^ve.  27 

"  Old  tricks,"  repeated  Shoubine.  "  The  subject 
is  painful  and  inexhaustible.  To-day  particularly 
she  put  me  quite  out  of  patience." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Ellen.  "  Recollect, 
you  are  not  speaking  of  a  horrid  disagreeable  old 
woman.  A  pretty  young  girl." 

"Certainly,"  interrupted  Shoubine.  "She  is 
pretty,  very  pretty.  I  am  sure  every  man  who  looks 
at  her  thinks,  Ah !  there  is  a  splendid  girl  to — dance 
a  polka  with ;  and  I  am  equally  sure  she  knows  it, 
and  is  proud  of  it  too.  What  else  are  those  prudish 
grimaces  for,  that  affected  modesty  ?  But  you  know 
as  well  as  I  do  what  I  mean,"  he  muttered  between 
his  teeth ;  "  and  besides,  you  are  otherwise  occupied 
now." 

"As  he  spoke,  he  threw  the  model  to  the  ground, 
and  began  eagerly  and  with  an  air  of  vexation  to 
mould  and  crumble  the  clay  between  his  fingers. 

"  And  so  you  would  like  to  be  a  philosopher  ? " 
Ellen  said  to  Bersieneff. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  rubbing  his  red  hands  between 
his  knees.  "  That  is  my  fondest  dream.  Of  course, 
I  know  what  is  required  of  me,  before  I  can  be  wor 
thy  of  such  a  noble I  mean,  I  am  ill-prepared  ; 

but  I  hope  to  go  abroad,  stay  three  or  four  years,  as 
long  as  is  necessary,  and  then — 

He  stopped  short,  cast  his  eyes  down  to  the 
ground,  but  quickly  raising  them  again,  smiled  awk 
wardly  as  he  began  pushing  back  his  hair.  When- 


28  On  the  Eve. 

ever  Bersieneff  talked  with  a  woman,  he  hesitated 
even  more  than  usual  in  his  speech,  and  his  lisp  be 
came  more  strongly  marked. 

"  You  wish  to  be  professor  of  history  ? "  asked 
Ellen. 

"  Yes,  or  philosophy ; "  and  then  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  if  that  were  only  possible." 

"  He  is  already  a  tremendous  swell  in  philosophy," 
remarked  Shoubine,  making  a  deep  cut  in  the  clay 
with  his  nail ;  "  what  on  earth  does  he  want  to  go 
abroad  for  ? " 

"And  you  will  be  quite  content  with  your  po 
sition  ? "  asked  Ellen,  touching  him  on  the  arm,  and 
looking  straight  into  his  face. 

"  Thoroughly,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,*  thoroughly. 
What  other  profession  could  be  preferable  ?  Think 
only,  to  follow  in  the  steps  ot  my  father.  The  mere 
thought  of  embracing  such  a  profession  fills  me  with 
joy  but  with  trepidation  too,  a  trepidation  that — that 
arises  from  a  consciousness  of  my  feebleness  and 
my  ignorance.  My  dear  father,  in  giving  me  his  last 
blessing,  bade  me  adopt  that  career.  I  shall  never 
forget  his  dying  words." 

"  Your  father  died  this  winter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  last  February." 

"  I  have  heard,"  she  continued,  "  that  he  left  be- 

*  The  Russians  use  the  patronymic  as  we  use  the  prefixes 
«  MT,"  "  Miss,"  etc. 


On  the  Eve.  29 

hind  him  a  remarkable  work  in  manuscript ;  is  it 
true  ? " 

"  It  is.  He  was  an  extraordinary  man.  You 
would  have  liked  him,  had  you  known  him." 

"  That  I  am  sure  of.  But  what  is  the  subject  of 
his  work  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  difficult,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  to  ex 
plain  its  subject  to  you  in  a  few  words.  My  father 
was  a  very  learned  man,  a  Schellingist,  and  his  style 
is  not  always  the  easiest  to  understand." 

"  Andrew  Petrovitch,  excuse  my  ignorant  ques 
tion,"  interrupted  Ellen,  "  but  what  is  a  Schellingist  ?  " 

Bersieneff  could  not  help  smiling.  "A  Schel 
lingist  ?  That  means  a  follower  of  Schelling,  a  Ger 
man  philosopher;  but  in  what  consists  the  peculiar 
doctrine " 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  Andrew  Petrovitch,"  cried 
Shoubine,  "  You  are  never  going  to  give  Ellen  Nicho 
laevna  a  lesson  on  Schelling ;  do  be  a  little  consider 
ate,  if  you  please." 

"  Don't  fear,  I  did  not  mean  to  give  a  lesson,"  mut 
tered  Bersieneff,  and  blushed  ;  "  I  only  wished — " 

"  And  why  not  a  lesson  ?  "  exclaimed  Ellen.  "  I 
am  sure  we  are  both  of  us  very  ignorant." 

Shoubine  looked  at  her,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ? "  she  asked  in  a  cold 
and  almost  severe  tone. 

Shoubine  was  silenced ;  but  after  a  few  moments 
he  said, "  Well,  don't  be  angry  :  I  was  wrong  to  laugh, 


30  On  the  Eve. 

But  you  will  allow  it  was  a  queer  fancy  on  a  hot  day 
like  this  to  give  an  open-air  lecture  on  philosophy. 
Far  better  talk  of  nightingales,  roses,  or  women's 
eyes." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  and  French  novels  or  the  newest 
fashion,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Why  not,  if  it  is  only  pretty  ? "  asked  Shou- 
bine. 

"  As  you  like.  But  suppose  we  don't  care  to  talk 
about  dress  ?  You  claim  for  yourself  freedom  in  art, 
why  not  allow  it  to  others  ?  And,  tell  me,  if  these  are 
your  tastes,  how  is  it  you  do  not  get  on  with  Zoe  ? 
Dress,  roses,  fashion,  and  so  on,  are  exactly  what  she 
likes  to  talk  about." 

Shoubine  at  once  flared  up,  sprang  from  his  seat, 
and  cried  out  in  an  angry  tone,  "  So  ;  I  understand 
your  hints — you  want  to  send  me  off  to  her  ;  in  other 
words,  I  am  one  too  many  here." 

"  I  never  thought  of  sending  you  away." 

"  You  mean,"  continued  Shoubine,  passionately, 
"  that  I  am  not  fit  for  any  other  company  ;  that  I  am 
her  equal,  as  empty,  silly,  and  shallow  as  that  mealy- 
mouthed  German  girl ;  that  is  what  you  mean  ?  " 

Ellen  was  evidently  displeased.  "  You  did  not 
always  speak  of  her  in  this  way,  Paul." 

"  Now  for  reproaches,  reproaches,  "  continued 
Shoubine.  "  Oh,  I  don't  deny  that  there  was  a  mo 
ment,  just  one  moment,  when  that  fair-faced  cunning 
coquette — But  suppose  I  were  inclined  to  pay  you 


On  the  Eve.  31 

back  in  your   own  coin,  and  reproach  you  with — But 
no,  I  won't  battle." 

And  angrily  striking  the  clay  which  he  had  just 
moulded  into  the  shape  of  a  head,  he  rushed  out  of 
the  arbor,  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  room. 

"  What  a  child  !  "  muttered  Ellen,  as  she  looked 
after  him. 

"An  artist!"  said  Bersieneff,  with  a  quiet  smile 
"  They  are  all  alike.  We  must  pardon  their  out 
breaks  :  it  is  one  of  their  rights  to  be  capricious." 

"Perhaps,"  answered  Ellen;  "but  it  is  a  right 
Paul  has  no  claim  to  ;  what  has  he  done  up  to,  the 
present  moment  ?  But  give  me  your  arm,  and  let  us  go 
along  that  alley.  He  only  hindered  us ;  now  we  can 
talk  quietly  of  your  father's  book." 

Bersieneff  gave  his  arm  to  Ellen,  and  they  strolled 
about  the  garden  ;  but  the  conversation,  which  had 
been  so  unseasonably  interrupted,  was  not  renewed. 
Bersieneff  again  began  to  explain  his  ideas  of  a  pro 
fessor's  duties  and  calling,  and  spoke  of  his  own 
future  career.  As  he  walked  with  Ellen,  he  would  at 
one  moment  awkwardly  take  her  arm,  and  then  as 
awkwardly  let  it  go  again,  not  seldom  jostling  clumsily 
against  her;  but  not  once  during  the  stroll  did  he 
venture  to  look  in  her  face.  He  spoke  slowly,  and 
if  not  with  perfect  freedom,  he  at  least  expressed 
himself  clearly  and  openly;  whilst  in  his  eyes,  which 
were  now  fixed  on  the  trunk  jof  a  tree,  now  on  the 
gravel  path,  and  now  on  the  grass,  as  well  as  in  the 


32        i  On  the  Eve. 

even  tone  of  his  voice,  there  was  to  be  discerned  that 
feeling  of  quiet  contentment  which  a  man  only  ex 
periences  when  speaking  to  one  who  is  dear  to  him. 
Ellen  listened  with  eager  interest,  and,  half-turning 
towards  him,  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  his  slightly 
flushed  face,  but  gazed  earnestly  into  those  soft,  gen 
tle  eyes  of  his,  which  were  forever  seeking  to  avoid 
her  glance.  Her  soul  was  opened,  and  a  feeling  of 
love,  truth,  and  goodness  flowed  into  her  heart,  and 
took  deep  root  there. 


On  the  Eve.  33 


CHAPTER  V. 

DISAPPOINTED    HOPES. 

SHOUBINE  did  not  leave  his  room  till  the  evening 
was  far  advanced.  It  was  already  twilight,  the 
full  moon  stood  high  in  the  heavens,  the  milky  way 
was  bright  and  clear,  and  innumerable  stars  were 
glittering  in  the  sky,  when  Bersieneff,  having  taken 
leave  of  Anne  Vasilievna,  Ellen  and  Zoe,  came  to 
the  door  of  his  room.  He  found  it  locked,  and  be 
gan  knocking. 

"  Who  is  there  ? "  cried  Shoubine  from  within. 

"  I,"  answered  Bersieneff. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Let  me  in  :  enough  of  your  tempers  !  are  you  not 
ashamed  ? " 

"  I  am  in  no  temper :  let  me  get  to  sleep  again, 
and  dream  of  Zoe." 

"Leave  off  your  nonsense,  and  open  the  door. 
You  are  not  a  child.  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"  What,  are  you  and  Ellen  already  tired  of  cooing." 

"  Leave  off,  I  say,  and  let  me  in  !  " 

"  Shoubine's  only  answer  to  this  was  an  unmis 
takable  snore.  Bersieneff  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
3 


34  On  the  Eve. 

and  set  off  homewards.  The  night  was  warm  and 
unusually  quiet,  so  quiet  that  the  least  noise  was  dis 
tinctly  audible ;  and  Bersieneff,  as  he  slowly  made 
his  way  along  the  dark  road,  would  frequently  stop 
and  listen.  The  light  motion  of  the  leaves  in  the 
topmost  branches  of  the  trees  sounded  like  the 
rustling  of  a  woman's  dress,  and  awoke  in  him  a 
feeling  that  was  at  once  tender  and  soothing — the 
feeling  of  incipient  love.  A  flush  of  joy  spread  over 
his  face,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  an  overpowering 
longing  possessed  him  to  flee  away  unseen  by  any  one, 
to  hide  himself,  to  be  alone.  A  sudden  gust  of  wind 
blew  from  an  opening  in  the  trees — he  shuddered, 
and  with  a  frightened  look  glanced  behind  him ;  a 
sluggish  beetle  fell  with  a  light  noise  from  a  branch 
to  the  ground — he  gave  a  cry  of  surprise,  and  again 
stood  still.  But  he  began  thinking  of  Ellen,  and  all 
these  momentary  fears  left  him  :  there  remained  only 
the  vivid  recollection  of  their  long  walk. in  the  cool  of 
the  evening,  and  his  whole  soul  was  filled  with  the 
young  girl's  image.  He  went  onward,  his  head  bent 
down,  repeating  to  himself  her  words,  her  questions. 
The  noise  of  hurried  steps  was  heard  behind  him. 
He  listened  :  some  one  was  running  after,  and  quickly 
gaining  upon,  him  ;  he  could  hear  the  runner's  broken 
breathing,  and  suddenly,  from  the  dark  shadow  that 
was  cast  by  a  lofty  tree,  came  forth  Shoubine,  with 
out  a  hat,  his  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  all  pale  and 
wan  in  the  ghastly  light  of  the  moon. 


On  the  Eve.  35 

"I  am  glad  you  came  by  this  path,"  he  said  with 
difficulty.  "  I  could  not  have  slept  a  wink  the  whole 
night,  if  I  had  not  caught  up  with  you.  Give  me 
your  hand.  -You  are  going  home,  it  seems." 

"I  am." 

"  I  will  go  with  you." 

"  How  can  you  without  a  hat  ?  " 

"  That  doesn't  matter.  I  will  tie  my  handkerchief 
over  my  head ; — there,  now  I  am  quite  warm." 

They  went  on  for  a  short  distance  without  ex 
changing  a  word. 

"  Didn^  I  make  a  fool  of  myself  this  evening  ?  " 
Shoubine  suddenly  asked. 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  you  did.  I  could  not 
make  out  what  was  the  matter  with  you.  To  be  angry, 
and  such  nonsense." 

"Ah,"  cried  Shoubine,  "  that  is  your  way  of  put 
ting  things ;  but  to  me  it  was  no  nonsense.  You 
see,"  he  went  on,  "  I  ought  to  explain  to  you  that  I — 
that  I — think  what  you  will  of  me — I — well,  there  ! — 
I  love  Ellen  !  " 

"You  love  Ellen!"  repeated  Bersieneff,  as  he 
came  to, full  stand  still. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Shoubine,  with  affected  in 
difference.  "  You  are  surprised  ?  But  I  will  tell  you 
more.  Till  this  evening  I  had  hoped  that  in  time 
she  might  return  my  love.  To-day,  however,  has 
taught  me  how  foolish  it  is  to  hope  any  longer.  She 
loves  another." 


36  On  the  Eve. 

"Another?  whom?" 

"  Whom  ?  why  you !  "  cried  Shoubine,  as  he  hit 
Bersieneff  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Me  ? " 

"  You  !"  repeated  Shoubine. 

Bersieneff  fell  back  a  step  or  two,  and  remained 
motionless.  Shoubine  looked  at  him  with  a  strange 
eager  look. 

"And  you  are  astonished  at  my  news  ?  Modest 
youth!  Yes  she  loves  you — of  that  you  may  be 
quite  sure." 

"  What  nonsense  are  you  talking  ? "  at  last  said 
Bersieneff,  in  a  tone  of  vexation. 

"  It  is  no  nonsense.  But  why  are  we  standing 
still  ?  Let  us  go  on  :  it  is  easier  to  talk  walking.  I 
have  known  her  for  years,  known  her  well.  I  can't 
be  mistaken.  You  have  touched  her  heart.  There 
was  a  time  when  I  did  not  altogether  displease  her  \ 
but  I  am  too  thoughtless,  whilst  you  are  a  serious  fel 
low  ;  you  have  everything  in  your  favor,  morally  and 
physically — stop,  I  have  not  done  yet — you  are  a  con 
scientious  but  moderate  enthusiast,  a  true  representa 
tive  of  those  teachers  of  science  in  which — no,  not  in 
which,  but — in  whom  the  middle  class  of  Russian 
society  take  so  just  a  pride.  And  then,  a  few  days 
ago,  she  caught  me  kissing  Zoe's  hand  !  " 

"Zoe's?" 

"  Ye-^,  Zoe's.  What  can  you  expect  when  a  girl 
has  such  pretty  shoulders  ?  " 


On  the  Eve.  37 

"  Shoulders  ? " 

"  Why  yes,  hand,  shoulders,  isn't  it  all  the  same  ? 
Ellen  found  me  expressing  my  love  in  a  way  that  is 
only  natural  after  dinner,  though  just  before  dinner  I 
had  been  scolding  Zoe  in  her  very  presence.  It  is  a 
pity  Ellen  can't  understand  these  little  inconstancies, 
which  mean  nothing.  Then  you  appeared  upon  the 
scene — you  are  an  idealist,  you  believe — by  the  way, 
what  is  it  you  believe  ? — you  blush,  get  nervous,  talk 
about  Schiller,  Schelling,  or  somebody — she  likes 
talking  about  remarkable  people — and  of  course  you 
come  off  victor ;  whilst  I,  poor  devil,  try  to  be  funny, 
and — and — and  in  the  meanwhile " 

Shoubine  burst  into  tears,  went  aside,  and  throw 
ing  himself  down  on  the  ground,  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

Bersieneff  came  softly  up  to  him. 

"  Paul,"  he  began,  "  what  is  all  this  ?  What  ails 
you  to-day  ?  or  what  idle  fancy  is  this  you  have  got 
into  your  head  ?  And  these  tears, — are  you  really 
only  funning  ?  " 

Shoubine  shook  his  head.  Tears  were  still  glis 
tening  on  his  cheeks  in  the  rays  of  the  moon,  as  he 
looked  up,  but  there  was  a  smile  on  his  face. 

"  Andrew  Petrovitch,  do  not  think  harshly  of  me ; 
this  of  course  is  a  mere  fit  of  hysterics.  But,  by 
God,  I  love  Ellen,  and  Ellen  loves — you !  But  I  for 
get,  I  promised  to  see  you  home,  and  I  will  keep  my 
word." 


38  On  the  Eve. 

/ 


"  What  a  lovely  night  !  quiet,  fresh,  and  full  of 
shadows  !  How  delightful  for  those  who  love  and 
are  loved  !  How  pleasant  to  lie  awake  and  think  of 
her  /  Shall  you  sleep  to-night,  Andrew  Petrovitch  ?  " 

Bersieneff  did  not  answer,  but  began  walking 
quickly. 

"  Where  are  you  hurrying  to  ?  "  continued  Shou- 
bine.  "  Believe  me,  there  will  never  be  such  another 
glorious  night  as  this  in  all  your  life  ;  and  then,  only 
Schelling  awaits  you  at  home.  It  is  true  he  did  you 
a  good  service  to-day  :  but  still  there  is  no  occasion 
for  hurrying.  Sing,  sing  as  loud  as  you  can,  or  if 
you  can't  sing,  take  off  your  hat,  throw  back  your 
head,  and  smile  up  at  the  stars  !  They  are  all  look 
ing  down  upon  you,  upon  you  alone  ;  that  is  their 
only  business,  to  smile  upon  lovers,  and  that  is  why 
they  are  so  beautiful.  So,  you  are  in  love,  Andrew 
Petrovitch  ?  You  don't  answer  —  why  don't  you  an 
swer  ?  Oh,  if  you  feel  yourself  to  be  happy,  keep 
silent,  keep  silent.  I  merely  chatter  on  because  I 
am  a  poor  wretch  whom  nobody  loves.  I  am  a  poor 
painter,  a  dauber,  an  artist  ;  but  what  glorious  strains 
of  melody  could  I  pour  forth  to  the  silent  night  be 
neath  those  shining  stars,  did  I  but  know  that  there 
was  one  in  the  wide  world  who  loved  me.  Bersieneff, 
tell  me,  are  you  happy  ?  " 

Bersieneff  maintained  his  former  silence,  but  pro 
ceeded  along  the  level  road  with  quickened  steps.  A 


On  the  Eve.    v\  ^  39 

little  farther  on,  from  amidst  the  tre e 
lights  and  fires  of  the  village  where  he  lived.  It 
comprised  in  all  but  ten  small  cottages.  At  its  en 
trance,  on  the  right  hand  of  the  road,  sheltered  by 
two  wide-spreading  beeches,  stood  a  retail  shop  ;  the 
windows  were  all  closed,  but  through  the  open  door  a 
broad  streak  of  light  gleamed  forth  on  the  down 
trodden  grass,  glancing  upward  to  the  trees,  and 
making  white  and  ghostly  the  under  surface  of  their 
thickly  clustered  leaves.  A  young  girl,  apparently  a 
chambermaid,  was  standing  in  the  shop,  and  chatting 
with  the  shopkeeper :  from  under  the  kerchief  which 
she  had  thrown  over  her  head,  and  was  holding  with 
her  bare  hand  beneath  her  chin,  but  little  could  be 
seen  of  her  roundish  face  or  well  formed  neck.  As 
they  passed,  Shoubine  chanced  to  look  into  the  shop, 
stood  still,  and  cried  out,  "  Annette."  The  girl 
quickly  turned  round  ;  there  was  something  pleasing 
in  her  fresh  face,  though  it  was  perhaps  somewhat  too 
large  to  be  beautiful,  in  her  sparkling  brown  eyes, 
and  in  her  black  eyebrows.  "  Annette ! "  cried 
Shoubine  a  second  time.  The  girl  looked  at  him, 
shrank  back  as  if  in  fear,  blushed  a  deep  crimson, 
and,  without  waiting  to  take  up  her  .purchases,  rushed 
down  the  steps,  pushed  roughly  by  the  two  friends, 
and,  with  one  hurried  glance  backward,  flew  across 
the  road.  The  shopkeeper,  who,  like  most  of  his 
class  in  the  provinces,  was  fat  and  phlegmatic,  gave  a 
low  whistle,  and  then  yawned ;  but  Shoubine  turned 


40  On  the  Eve. 

to  Bersieneff,  and  said,  "  This — this,  you  see — there 

is  a  family  here  I  know — they  have — do  not  fancy " 

and,  without  finishing  his  incoherent  explanation,  ran 
after  the  girl. 

"  At  any  rate,  wipe  your  tears  away  first,"  Bersie 
neff  cried  laughingly  after  him.  But  when  he  had 
reached  his  home,  there  was  no  longer  an  expression 
of  gayety  on  his  countenance,  and  he  was  no  longer 
smiling.  Not  for  a  moment  did  he  credit  what  Shou- 
bine  had  told  him ;  but  for  all  that,  his  words  had 
made  a  deep  impression.  "  Paul  has  only  been  fool 
ing  me,"  he  thought ;  "  but  at  some  time  or  other  she 
will  love, — whom  will  it  be  ?  " 

In  his  room  there  stood  a  small  and  rather  old 
piano,  but  with  a  tone  soft  and  pleasing,  though  by 
no  means  pure.  Bersieneff  sat  down  to  it,  and  care 
lessly  struck  a  few  notes.  Like  all  well-born  Russi 
ans,  he  had  in  his  youth  learned  music,  and,  also  like 
all  well-born  Russians,  he  played  very  badly.  He 
was,  however,  passionately  fond  of  music,  though,  to 
speak  correctly,  it  was  not  the  art,  or  the  form  in 
which  the  art  expressed  itself,  that  he  loved,  but  its 
melody.  Sonatas,  symphonies,  and  even  operas, 
made  him  weary :  but  he  loved  music  for  the  feelings, 
restless  yet  soothing,  indefinable,  yet  wide-embrac 
ing,  which  the  harmony  or  sweet  discord  of  sounds 
never  fails  to  produce  in  the  soul.  More  than  an 
hour  passed,  and  he  still  remained  at  the  piano, 
striking  over  and  over  again  the  same  notes,  or  clum- 


On  the  Eve.  41 

sily  trying  to  make  out  new  chorcis,  and  letting  the 
sounds  die  away  gradually  and  faintly.  His  heart 
was  touched,  and  his  eyes  not  seldom  overflowed 
with  tears.  He  was  neither  ashamed  of  them,  nor 
did  he  seek  to  check  them,  and  there  was  none  to 
ridicule  his  sensibility.  "  Paul  was  right,"  he  mur 
mured  to  himself,  "in  my  whole  life  there  will  be  no 
such  second  night  as  this."  At  last  he  got  up,  lighted 
a  candle,  put  on  his  dressing-gown,  took  down  from 
his  bookcase  the  second  volume  of  Raumer's  History 
of  ffothensfauffen,  and  with  a  heavy  sigh  began  read 
ing  that  learned  work. 


42  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

) 
ELLEN'S  CHARACTERISTIC  SINGULARITY. 

IN  the  meantime  Ellen  had  retired  to  her  room, 
and  leaning  her  head  on  her  hand  sat  down  by 
the  open  window.  It  was^a  habit  with  her  to  sit  thus 
by  the  window  every  evening  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
or  so.  It  was  her  time  of  self-communion,  when  she 
was  wont  to  take  account  of  the  day  that  had  just 
passed.  She  had  already  reached  her  twentieth  year. 
She  was  tall  in  stature,  of  a  pale-olive  complexion, 
and  slightly  freckled,  with  a  regularly  formed  nose 
and  forehead,  a  mouth  somewhat  drawn  in,  and  a 
pointed  chin.  Her  light-brown  hair  fell  in  rich  curls 
over  her  thin  neck.  In  her  whole  figure,  in  the  ex 
pression  of  her  face,  which  was  at  once  observant 
and  timid,  in  her  keen  but  variable  glance,  in  her 
seemingly  forced  smile,  in  the  low  hesitating  tone  of 
her  voice,  there  was  a  nervousness,  an  abruptness,  a 
precipitancy  which  could  not  please  everybody,  and 
which  must  have  been  repellant  to  many.  Her 
hands  were  narrow  and  rosy,  'her  fingers  long  and 
tapering,  her  feet  small ;  her  walk  was  hurried,  al 
most  impetuous,  and  as  she  moved  she  bent  forward. 
She  was  oddly  changeable  in  her  affections :  at  one 


On  the  Eve.  43 

time  she  idolized  her  father,  then  was  passionately 
attached  to  her  mother,  and  would  afterwards  treat 
both,  but  particularly  her  fafher,  with  cold  indiffer 
ence.  Of  late  she  had  behaved  to  her  mother  as 
one  would  to  an  invalid  grandmother.  Her  father, 
who  had  formerly  taken  pride  in  her  strange  ways 
whilst  she  was  a  child,  began  to  be  afraid  of  her 
now  that  she  was  grown  up,  and  spoke  of  her  as  a 
capricious  enthusiast.  Any  exhibition  of  weakness 
irritated  her,  stupidity  made  her  angry,  a  lie  she 
could  never  be  brought  to  pardon,  nothing  could 
move  her  when  once  she  had  formed  a  resolution, 
and  in  her  mode  of  proffering  a  request  there  was  an 
implied  reproach.  Did  a  man  once  forfeit  her  good 
opinion — and  she  was  extremely  ready  in  pronounc 
ing  her  judgment  of  others — he  ceased  to  exist  so 
far  as  she  was  concerned.  She  was  easily  moved, 
and,  young  as  she  was,  her  life  had  not  been  of  the 
most  tranquil  kind. 

The  governess  whom  Anne  Vasilievna  had  en 
gaged  to  finish  her  daughter's  education — an  educa 
tion  with  which,  by  the  way,  that  melancholy  lady 
had  never  concerned  herself — was  a  Russian,  of  a 
very  sentimental,  worthy,  but  fickle  character,  the 
daughter  of  a  ruined  gambler.  She  was  much  given 
to  falling  in  love,  and  when  Ellen  had  just  reached 
her  tenth  year,  she  married  an  officer  who  soon  after 
wards  abandoned  her.  She  was  very  fond  of  litera 
ture,  and  even  wrote  verses  herself.  She  thus  im- 


44  On  the  Ere. 

bued  Ellen  with  a  taste  for  reading;  but  mere  read 
ing  did  not  satisfy  her  pupil,  who  longed  to  put  her 
knowledge  into  practice,  and  was  ever  eager  for  op 
portunities  of  active  goodness.  The  sight  of  a  poor 
or  famished  person  was  a  misery  and  a  worrying  anx 
iety  to  her,  disturbed  her  rest,  nor  was  she  content 
till  she  had  relieved  his  necessities  and  enlisted  the 
sympathy  of  all  around  her  in  his  favor.  She  ad 
ministered  her  alms  with  the  most  scrupulous  care, 
and  with  an  instinctive  seriousness  that  gave  a  so 
lemnity  to  her  most  trivial  act  of  charity.  Any  ill- 
used  animal,  stray  dogs,  kittens  condemned  to  an 
early  death,  swallows  fallen  from  their  nest,  even 
worms  and  insects,  found  a  friend  and  protector  in 
Ellen,  who,  so  far  from  regarding  them  with  any  feel 
ing  of  aversion,  would  nourish  and  feed  them.  Her 
mother  let  her  have  her  way :  but  her  father  was 
perpetually  grumbling  at  what  he  called  his  daugh 
ter's  stupid  sentimentality,  and  declared  that  what 
with  her  cats  and  her  dogs,  there  was  no  moving 
about  in  the  house.  "  Ah,  Nell,"  he  would  cry  out, 
"come  here  directly;  there's  a  spider  just  going  to 
pounce  on  a  fly."  Ellen,  all  trembling  with  emotion, 
would  rush  to  the  spot,  rescue  the  fly,  and  carefully 
wipe  its  wings  and  legs.  "  And  now,"  the  father 
would  add  jeeringly,  "  let  the  spider  eat  you,  since 
you  have  robbed  it  of  its  food  :"  but  she  paid  no  at 
tention  to  his  banter.  In  her  eleventh  year,  Ellen 
became  acquainted  with  a  poor  girl,  named  Kate, 


On  1he  Eve.  45 

whom  she  used  to  meet  secretly  in  the  garden, 
bringing  with  her  sweets  or  cakes,  sometimes  a  pres 
ent  of  money  or  dress  ;  for  Kate  never  accepted  toys. 
They  used  to  sit  for  hours  together  on  the  dry  ground 
beneath  a  hedge,  and  while  contentedly  munching  hei 
bit  of  stale  bread,  Kate  would  tell  her  friend  the 
story  of  her  life.  She  had  an  ill-tempered  aunt,  who 
was  constantly  beating  her  ;  Kate  not  unnaturally 
hated  her,  and  liked  to  talk  of  how  some  day  she 
would  run  away,  and  "  trust  to  God  for  food  and 
health."  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  secret  reverence 
and  fear  that  Ellen  heard  this,  to  her,  novel  and 
strange  expression ;  she  looked  at  Kate  attentively, 
and  at  that  moment  everything  about  her  friend — her 
eyes  black,  sparkling,  and  almost  savage,  her  sun 
burnt  hands,  her  low  voice,  and  even  her  tattered 
dress — seemed  to  Ellen  to  bear  an  imprint  of  sancti 
ty.  She  returned  home  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  pon 
dered  long  over  those  words,  "  Trust  to  God  for  food 
and  health,"  and  resolved  to  cut  a  good  stout  stick 
for  herself,  run  away  with  Kate,  and  get  her  livelihood 
by  selling  bouquets  of  violets.  She  began  at  this  time 
to  avoid  her  relations,  and  to  have  fits  of  misanthro 
py.  Once,  having  gone  to  meet  Kate  during  a  show 
er,  she  came  back  with  her  dress  dirty  and  wet;  her 
father  remarked  it,  and  called  her  a  slut.  She  did 
not  say  a  word  in  reply,  but  her  heart  swelled  with  a 
strange  feeling  of  anger  and  discontent.  Kate  often 
sang  to  her  one  of  the  common  soldier-songs,  and 


46  On  the  Eve. 

Ellen  learned  the  words.  On  one  occasion  her  moth 
er  chanced  to  overhear  her  singing  it,  and  angrily 
asked,  "  Where  did  you  pick  up  that  vulgar  pothouse 
song  ?"  Ellen  only  looked  at  her  mother,  and  did  not 
answer  a  word  :  she  felt  that  she  would  rather  be 
torn  in  pieces  than  betray  her  secret ;  and  again  her 
heart  swelled  with  a  strange  feeling  of  angry  discon 
tent.  But  her  friendship  for  Kate  was  fated  to  come 
to  an  .abrupt  and  tragical  end  ;  the  poor  girl  caught 
a  fever,  and,  after  a  few  days'  illness,  died.  Ellen 
was  bitterly  grieved  at  this  her  great  loss,  and  for 
several  nights  was  unable  to  sleep.  Those  solemn 
words  of  the  poor  girl  were  incessantly  ringing  in  her 
ears,  and  the  dead  seemed  to  be  calling  her  to  join 
her. 

Thus  years  went  by  ;  and  Ellen's  youth,  like  the 
waters  beneath  a  frozen  stream,  flowed  on  silently 
and  quickly,  in  outward  inactivity,  but  in  inward  un 
easiness  and  strife.  She  had  no  friends,  nor  was 
there  one  among  all  that  visited  the  Stachoffs  with 
whom  she  became  intimate.  Her  parents  had  never 
had  much  authority  or  influence  over  her,  and  from 
her  sixteenth  year  Ellen" became  almost  independent, 
living  a  life  of  her  own,  solitary  and  apart.  In  soli 
tude  her  soul  by  fitful  turns  expanded  and  contract 
ed,  beating  its  wings  like  a  bird  in  its  cage,  though 
there  was  none  that  cared  to  confine  or  restrain  her 
movements.  But  in  spite  of  this  freedom  she  was 
none  the  less  disquieted  and  uneasy.  At  times  she 


On  the  Eve.  47" 

could  not  understand  the  reason  of  the  turbulent 
feelings  which  possessed  her,  and  even  grew  afraid 
of  herself.  The  life  that  surrounded  her  seemed  at 
its  best  trifling  and  unbearable.  "  How  live  without 
love  ?  to  love  no  one !"  she  thought,  and  her  heart 
was  filled  with  a  strange  and  indefinable  desire. 
When  eighteen,  she  nearly  died  of  a  fever,  and  it 
was  long  before  her  constitution,  naturally  robust  and 
healthy,  regained  its  original  strength.  At  length  all 
traces  of  this  severe  illness  disappeared,  though  her 
father,  not  without  a  little  irritation,  would  still  com 
plain  of  her  nervous  temperament.  At  times  she 
would  be  oppressed  with  a  vague  longing  for  some 
thing,  she  knew  not  what,  something  that  none  be 
fore  her  had  ever  wished  for,  something  that  none  in 
all  Russia  had  ever  imagined.  And  then  she  grew 
quieter,  laughed  at  her  own  simplicity,  passed  a  few 
days  in  careless  ease,  when  suddenly  the  indefinite 
longing  returned  with  a  force  that  resisted  all  her 
efforts  to  repel  it,  and  once  more  the  storm  passed 
over,  leaving  her  weary,  feebly  beating  her  wings 
against  the  cage..  These  passionate  yearnings,  how 
ever  much  she  might  try  to  conceal  them  from  others, 
could  not  but  exercise  a  powerful  influence  upon  her 
disposition  and  her  health ;  and  her  parents,  as  they 
remarked  her  "  strange  ways,"  were  more  than  once 
justified 'in  shrugging  their  shoulders,  and  declaring 
they  could  not  make  her  out. 

On  the  day   when  our  story  opens,   Ellen  sat 


48  On  the  Eve. 

longer  than  usual  by  the  window.  She  thought  much 
of  Bersieneff  and  of  their  conversation.  He  pleased 
her:  she  believed  in  the  warmth  of  his  feelings,  in 
the  purity  of  his  intentions.  Never  before  had  he 
spoken  with  her  as  he  spoke  that  evening.  She  un 
derstood  the  meaning  of  his  timid  glances,  his  smile, — 
and  smiled  herself,  and  fell  into  a  train  of  thought, 
but  no  longer  of  him.  She  gazed  wistfully  into  the 
night,  gazed  long  on  the  dark  lowering  sky ;  then  rose 
up,  pushed  back  her  hair  from  her  face,  and,  without 
knowing  why  she  did  so,  stretched  out  toward  the  sky 
her  bare  cold  hands.  A  few  minutes  passed,  and  she 
abruptly  let  them  fall,  threw  herself  on  her  knees  by 
the  side  of  her  bed,  and,  hiding  her  face  on  the  pil 
low,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to  restrain  them,  burst 
into  a  flood  of  warm  passionate  tears. 


On  the  Eve.  49 


CHAPTER  VII. 

UERSIENEFF'S  INTERVIEW  WITH  INSAROFF. 

AT  twelve  o'clock  on  the  next  day  Bersieneff  set 
out  for  Moscow.  He  had  to  receive  some 
money  through  the  post,  as  well  as  to  buy  a  few 
books ;  besides  which,  he  wished  to  see  his  friend 
Insaroff.  During  his  late  conversation  with  Shou- 
bine  the  idea  had  come  into  his  head  of  inviting 
Insaroff  to  spend  the  summer  with  him  at  Koon- 
tsoff.  For  a  long  time  he  could  not  find  him :  he 
had  removed  from  his  old  lodging,  and  it  was  no  easy 
task  to  discover  his  new  one.  At  last  he  learned  that 
he  now  lived  in  the  back  courtyard  of  a  large  stone 
house  built  after  the  fashion  of  the  St.  Petersburg 
houses.  In  vain  he  mounted  one  staircase  after 
another,  and  equally  useless  were  his  inquiries  of  the 
dvornick*  or  of  any  chance  passer-by.  In  Petersburg, 
it  is  true,  dvornicks  have  a  knack  of  avoiding  all  in 
quirers,  and  in  Moscow  this  habit  is  fast  becoming 
general.  No  one  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  him  ; 

*  Dvornick  in  Russian  answers  to  the  French  concierge,  only 
much  dirtier  in  his  dress,  and,  if  possible,  more  uncivil  in  his 
manners. 


50  On  the  Eve. 

a  tailor,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  with  a  skein  of  thread 
thrown  over  his  shoulders,  looked  out  of  his  window, 
but,  having  satisfied  his  curiosity,  drew  his  swarthy 
unshaven  face  in  again,  and,  crossing  his  legs  on  his 
board,  resumed  his  work.  At  last  a  woman  in  an  old 
cloak,  and  with  shoes  horridly  trodden  down  at  the 
heels,  took  pity  on  Bersieneff,  whom  she  had  been 
watching  for  some  time  in  silence,  and  directed  him 
to  InsarofFs  room.  It  formed  a  part  of  that  same 
tailor's  lodging  who  had  so  quietly  watched  Bersieneff 
from  his  window :  a  large  room,  almost  bare  of  fur 
niture,  with  a  dark-green  paper  on  the  walls,  three 
square  windows,  a  tiny  bed  in  one  corner,  and  a 
leather-covered  sofa  in  another,  and  a  huge  cage, 
formerly  the  home  of  a  nightingale  long  since  dead, 
hanging  from  the  centre  of  the  ceiling.  Insaroff  rose 
up  to  meet  his  friend  before  he  had  well  crossed  the 
threshold;  but,  instead  of  crying  out,  "Ah,  that  is 
you ! "  "  What  good  fortune  brings  you  here  ? "  or 
even  "  How  do  you  do  ? "  he  simply  gave  him  his 
hand,  and  led  him  to  the  only  chair  there  was  in  the 
room. 

"  Take  the  chair,"  he  said,  himself  sitting  down 
on  the  edge  of  the  table ;  "  you  see,  I  am  scarcely 
in  order,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  a  heap  of  papers 
and  books  that  lay  on  the  floor;  "I  have  still  to  buy 
a  little  furniture,  and  ought  to  have  done  so  long  ago, 
but  have  had  no  time." 

Insaroff  spoke  Russian  with  fluency  and  correct- 


On  the  Eve.  51 

ness,  pronouncing  each  word  distinctly  and  accu 
rately  ;  but  the  guttural  tone  of  his  voice  showed 
that  he  was  no  Russian,  whilst  his  figure  and  appear 
ance  still  more  clearly  indicated  his  foreign  extrac 
tion.  He  was  a  young  man  of  about  twenty-five, 
thin  and  muscular  in  shape,  with  a  hollow  chest  and 
horny  hands.  His  features  were  sharp  and  well  de 
fined  ;  his  nose  was  slightly  curved;  his  hair  of  a 
light  chestnut  color  ;  his  eyes  small,  keen  and  sunken  ; 
his  forehead  small  but  prominent;  his  teeth  of  a 
beautiful  whiteness ;  but  in  his  thin  lips  there  was  an 
expression  of  hardness  and  self-reliance.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  surtout,  rather  the  worse  for  wear,  and 
closely  buttoned  up  to  the  chin. 

"  Why  did  you  leave  your  old  lodging  ? "  Ber- 
sieneff  asked  him. 

"  It  is  cheaper  here,  and  nearer  to  the  university." 

"  But  now  it  is  vacation.  And  what  is  your  fancy 
for  living  in  town  during  the  summer  ?  When  you 
were  moving,  you  should  have  taken  a  little  house  in 
the  country." 

Insaroff  made  no  answer  to  this,  but  offered  his 
visitor  a  pipe,  saying,  "  You  must  excuse  my  having 
no  cigars  or  cigarettes  to  give  you." 

Bersieneff  took  the  pipe  and  began  smoking. 
"  I  have  taken  a  small  house  for  the  summer,"  he 
added,  "  near  Koontsoff.  It  is  very  cheap  and  com 
fortable.  There  is  a  spare  room,  too,  in  the  top  story." 

Still  Insaroff  made  no  answer. 


52  O/i  the  Eve. 

"  1  had  thought  that  if  I  could  only  find  some  one 
I  should  like,"  continued  Bersieneff,  as  he  puffed  out 
a  huge  cloud  of  smoke — "  you,  for  example — who 
would  consent  to  live  with  me  in  the  room  up-stairs 
— ah  !  how  glorious  it  would  be  !  What  do  you  say 
to  it,  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch  ?  " 

Insaroff  looked  at  his  friend  inquiringly.  "  You 
propose  that  I  should  live  with  you  at  Koontsoff  ?  " 

"Just  so:  there  is  a  small  spare  room  in  the  top 
story." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Andrew  Petrovitch  ;  but 
I  must  tell  you  frankly  my  means  won't  allow  me  to 
accept  your  offer." 

"  How  won't  allow  you  ?  " 

"  To  live  with  you  in  the  country  :  I  can't  afford 
to  keep  two  lodgings,  one  here  and  another  there." 

"  Well,  but  I  meant,"  began  Bersieneff,  and  then 
stopped.  "  It  would  cause  you  no  extra  expense,"  he 
continued.  "  You  can  easily  get  them  to  keep  this 
lodging  for  you  till  the  winter ;  and  then,  everything 
is  so  cheap  there ;  besides,  we  might  manage  to  dine 
together." 

Insaroff  was  silent,  and  Bersieneff  began  to  feel  ill 
at  ease. 

"At  least,  you  must  promise  to  come  and  see  me 
now  and  then,"  he  said.  "A  few  steps  from  my 
house  there  lives  a  family  with  whom  I  should  like  to 
make  you  acquainted.  Ah  !  if  you  only  knew,  Insa 
roff,  what  a  splendid  girl  there  is  there  !  And  a  very 


On  the  Eve.  53 

near  friend  of  mine,  a  first-rate  artist,  lives  with  the 
family ;  I  am  sure  you  would  get  on  with  him.  So, 
it  is  agreed,  you  will  come.  Or,  better  still,  come 
and  stay  there  altogether.  You  could  work  and 
read  there  as  much  as  you  like.  And,  you  know,  I 
am  now  getting  up  my  history  and  philosophy — just 
the  subjects  that  interest  you — and  I  have  brought 
plenty  of  books  down  with  me." 

Insaroff  got  off  the  table,  and  began  walking 
about  the  room.  "  Do  you  mind  telling  me,"  he  at 
last  asked  BersienefT,  '•  what  rent  you  pay  ?  " 

"A  hundred  roubles." 

"  And  how  many  rooms  are  there  ?  " 

"  Five." 

"  For  one  room,  then,  that  would  make  twenty 
roubles." 

"But  I  tell  you,  I  don't  want  it  all;  it  is  merely 
standing  empty." 

"  Very  likely,"  Insaroff  answered  in  a  friendly  but 
firm  tone ;  but  you  must  know  that  I  can  only  accept 
your  offer  on  condition  that  I  pay  my  share  of  the 
rent.  Twenty  roubles  I  can  afford,  the  more  so,  as 
you  say  living  is  cheap  there." 

"  Be  it  so :  though,  really,  I  am  ashamed  to  take 
money  for  a  room  that  is  of  no  use  to  me." 

"  I  can't  come  otherwise,  Andrew  Petrovitch." 

"  As  you  like  ;  but  what  an  obstinate  fellow  you 
are  !  " 

It  only  remained  to  fix  the  day  on  which  Insaroff 


54  On  the  Eve. 

should  move  into  the  country.  The  landlord  was  ac 
cordingly  summoned  :  but  he  first  sent  his  daughter, 
a  girl  seven  years  old,  with  a  large  flaunting  handker 
chief  tied  over  her  head,  who  listened  with  a  sort  of 
timid  attention  to  all  InsarofT  had  to  say,  and  then 
went  away  without  a  word.  A  few  minutes  later  his 
wife  was  sent  up.  She,  too,  had  a  handkerchief  on 
her  head,  but  it  was  fortunately  neither  so  capacious 
nor  so  exasperatingly  flaunting.  InsarofT  informed 
her  of  his  intention,  at  the  same  time  telling  her  that 
she  was  to  keep  the  lodging  for  him,  and  to  see  that 
his  things  were  not  disturbed.  The  good  woman 
heard  all  he  had  to  say,  and  then  left  him  without 
vouchsafing  a  word  in  reply.  Last  of  all,  the  tailor 
himself  made  his  appearance.  He  too  required  all 
to  be  explained  to  him ;  and  when,  after  a  long  time, 
he  was  made  to  understand,  he  went  clown  stairs  mut 
tering  to  himself,  "Near  KoontsofT;  "  but  quickly  re 
turned,  and,  opening  the  door,  cried  out,  "  The 
lodging  is  to  be  kept  for  you,  eh  ?  "  InsarofT  satisfied 
him  on  this  point.  "  Because,  you  know,  one  must 
be  sure,"  rejoined  the  worthy,  and  finally  disap 
peared. 

BersienefT  returned  home  very  much  pleased  with 
his  success.  InsarofT  accompanied  him  down-stahs 
with  a  politeness  that  is  not  usually  practised  by  Rus 
sians,  and  soon  after  his  friend's  departure  was  busily 
engaged  in  packing  his  books  and  papers. 


On  the  Eve.  55 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

YOUTHFUL    IMPROPRIETY. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  same  day  Anne  Vasilievna 
was  sitting  in  her  drawing-room,  in  a  most  lach 
rymose  humor,  and  ready  to  burst  into  tears  at  any 
moment.  Besides  her  there  was  in  the  same  room 
her  husband  and  a  certain  Urban  Ivanovitch  Stachoff, 
a  cousin-german  of  Nicholas,  a  retired  cornet,  about 
sixty  years  old,  so  fat  that  he  could  hardly  move,  with 
a  puffy  face,  pale,  thick  lips,  and  yellowish  sleepy  eyes. 
Since  his  retirement  from  the  service  he  lived  con 
stantly  at  Moscow  on  the  interest  of  a  small  property 
that  had  been  left  him  by  his  wife.  He  never  did 
anything,  and  probably  never  thought,  or  if  he  did,  he 
carefully, kept  his  thoughts  to  himself.  Only  once  in 
his  life  was  he  ever  known  to  have  been  excited,  and 
to  have  shown  something  like  activity,  and  it  hap 
pened  thus :  he  read  in  the  papers  of  a  new  instru 
ment  at  the  Great  Exhibition  in  London,  called  the 
"  contrabombardon,"  and  at  once  desired  to  get  one 
for  himself,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  make  in 
quiries  where  he  could  order  one,  and  how  he  could 
remit  the  money.  Urban  Ivanovitch  generally  wore 


56  On  the  Eve. 

a  snuff-colored  coat  and  an  equally  capacious  white 
neckerchief;  he  ate  frequently  and  heartily;  and  in 
moments  of  embarrassment,  that  is,  whenever  he  was 
called  upon  to  express  an  opinion,  gave  a  slow  flour 
ish  with  his  hand  in  the  air,  raising  in  succession  each 
separate  finger,  first  beginning  with  the  large  finger 
and  ending  with  the  little  one,  then  repeating  the  op 
eration  vice  versd,  and  finally  delivering  himself  with 
difficulty  of  these  words:  "It  may  be  necessary  — 
somehow — so  to  say." 

Urban  Ivanovitch  was  sitting  near  the  window  in 
an  arm-chair,  thinking  deeply.  Nicholas  Artemvitch 
was  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands  plunged 
deep  in  his  trowser-pockets,  with  an  expression  of  dis 
satisfaction  on  his  face. 

At  last  he  came  to  a  stand-still,  and  gravely  shook 
his  head.  "  Yes,"  he  began,  "  in  my  time  young  peo 
ple  were  brought  up  differently;  they  never  allowed 
themselves  to  manquer  in  respect  to  their  elders  " — he 
pronounced  the  syllable  man  through  the  nose,  quite 
in  the  French  manner — "  but  nowi  when  I  look  around 
me,  I  am  lost  in  wonder.  Perhaps  /  am  wrong,  and 
they  are  right ;  it  may  be  so.  But  still  I  have  my  way 
of  looking  at  things,  I  was  not  born  a  fool.  What  may 
be  your  opinion,  Urban  Ivanovitch  ?  " 

UVban  Ivanovitch  only  looked  at  him,  and  went 
through  his  usual  finger  pantomime.  . 

"  There's  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  for  example,"  con 
tinued  Nicholas  Artemvitch  ;  "  I  don't  understand  her, 


On  the  Eve.  57 

I  really  don't.  I  am  not  fine  enough  for  her.  Her 
heart  is  so  large  that  it  can  sympathize  with  all  nature, 
down  to  the  tiniest  beetle  or  ugliest  frog — all,  in  a 
word,  except  her  own  father.  Well,  very  good,  I  re 
cognize  the  fact,  and  am  silent.  You  see,  these  fine 
sensations,  this  learning,  these  lofty  soarings  to  heaven 
are  not  in  my  nature.  But  that  Mr.  Shoubine,  who,  I 
allow,  is  an  excellent  artist,  a  man  of  unusual  genius — 
that  I  don't  dispute — should  also  fail  in  showing  prop 
er  respect  to  his  elders,  to  a  man  to  whom,  I  may  say, 
he  owes  very  much,  is  a  thing  which  I  confess,  dans  mon 
gros  bon  sens,  I  cannot  allow.  I  am  not  at  all  exacting 
by  nature — far  from  it ;  but  there  is  a  limit  to  every 
thing." 

Anne  Vasilievna  rang  a  bell  with  some  impatience. 
A  young  Cossack  servant  entered  the  room. 

"  Should  not  Paul  Jakovlevitch  be  sent  for  ?  "  she 
said  :  "  may  I  ask  him  to  come  ? " 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Why,  pray,  do  you  wish  to  ask  him  to  come  here  ? 
I  do  not  demand  his  presence  in  any  way,  do  not  at 
all  desire  it." 

"  Why  not,  Nicholas  Artemvitch  ?  He  has  put 
you  out,  and  when  you  are  undergoing  medical  treat 
ment.  I  wish  to  have  an  explanation  with  him.  I 
should  like  to  know  how  he  dared  to  vex  you." 

"  I  repeat  that  I  do  not  demand  any  explanation. 
And,  then,  what  bad  taste — devant  les  domestiques — " 

Anne  Vasilievna  slightly  blushed.     "-You  are  not 


58  On  the  Eve. 

justified  in  saying  that,  Nicholas  Artemvitch.  I  never 
— devant — les  domestiques.  You  may  go,  Theodosins, 
but  ask  Paul  Jakovlevitch  to  come  here  directly." 

The  servant  went  out. 

"  It  is  altogether  unnecessary,"  muttered  Nicholas 
Artemvitch,  as  he  began  again  to  prance  up  and 
down  the  room.  "  It  was  not  with  that  object  I  in 
troduced  the  subject." 

"  But  of  course  Paul  must  excuse  himself  to  you." 

"  What  do  I  care  for  his  excuses  ?  And  what 
does  that  mean,  to  excuse  one's  self  ?  It  is  merely  a 
fine  phrase." 

"  It  may  be  so  ;  but  he  must  be  made  to  explain 
his  conduct." 

"  Make  him  do  that  yourself.  He  is  more  likely 
to  listen  to  you.  I  have  no  authority  over  him." 

"  No,  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  you  are  quite  out  of 
sorts  to-day.  Indeed,  I  have  noticed  lately  that  you 
are  getting  thin.  I  am  afraid  that  the  treatment  you 
are  undergoing  is  only  doing  you  harm." 

"  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I  should  continue 
the  treatment,"  Nicholas  Artemvitch  answered :  "  my 
liver  is  quite  out  of  order." 

At  this  moment  Shoubine  entered.  There  was  an 
expression  of  weariness  about  his  looks,  but  at  the 
same  time  an  almost  imperceptible  smile  on  his  face. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me,  Anne  Vasilievna  ? "  he 
inquired. 

"  Yes  I  did.     Really,  Paul,  it  is  too  bad.      I  am 


On 'the  Eve.  59 

altogether  displeased  with  you.  How  could  you  be 
so  disrespectful  to  Nicolas  Artemvitch  ?  " 

"  Has  Nicholas  Artemvitch  been  complaining  to 
you  of  me  ? "  asked  Shoubine,  as  with  an  ill-sup 
pressed  smile  he  turned  to  Stachoff.  But  the  latter 
turned  aside,  and  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"Yes,  he  has.  I  do  not  know  in  what  you  have 
offended  him,  but  you  ought  at  once  to  excuse  your 
self,  because  his  health  is  just  now  very  delicate  ;  and 
besides,  we  young  people  cannot  be  too  respectful." 

"  Feminine  logic,"  thought  Shoubine  to  himself ; 
and  then,  turning  to  Stachoff,  said  aloud,  with  a  po 
lite  bow,  "  I  am  quite  willing,  Nicholas  Artemvitch, 
to  ask  your  pardon,  if  I  have  really  offended  you  in 
any  way." 

"  I  did  not  at  all  wish  for  this,"  exclaimed  Nicho 
las  Artemvitch,  still  avoiding  Shoubine's  glance.  "  For 
the  rest,  I  gladly  accept  your  excuses,  for,  as  you 
well  know,  I  am  not  exacting  by  nature." 

"  Oh,  that  admits  of  no  doubt !  "  added  Shoubine. 
"  But  might  I  be  so  curious  as  to  ask  whether  Anne 
Vasilievna  knows  what  my  offence  you  have  just 
pardoned  is  ? " 

"  No,  I  know  nothing,"  said  Anne  Vasilievna, 
stretching  out  her  neck. 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  hastily  cried  Nicholas  Artem 
vitch,  "how  many  times  have  I  not  begged  and 
prayed,  how  many  times  have  I  not  told  you  that  all 
these  explanations  and  scenes  are  hateful  to  mel 


60  On  the  Eve. 

You  come  home,  no  matter  when,  longing  for  quiet 
and  repose — do  they  not  talk  about  the  family  circle, 

interieur,  the  domestic  hearth  ? and  directly  there 

are  scenes,  unpleasantnesses.  Not  a  minute's  quiet. 
You  are  driven  away  to  your  club  or — or  somewhere 
else.  Man  is  a  creature  whose  physical  nature  has 
its  special  wants,  but  here " 

And  without  staying  to  finish  his  speech,  Nicholas 
Artemvitch  hurriedly  left  the  room,  banging  the  door 
noisily  after  him.  "  To  the  club?"  muttered  Anne 
Vasilievna,  in  a  bitter  tone,  as  she  looked  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  door ;  "  it  is  not  to  the  club  you  go,  in 
consistent  one  !  There  is  no  one  in  the  club  to  whom 
you  would  give  a  pair  of  horses, — and  the  grey  ones 
too,  my  favorite  color.  No,  no,"  she  continued,  rais 
ing  her  voice,  "  it  is  not  to  the  club  you  go.  And 
you,  Paul,"  she  went  on,  getting  up  from  her  chair, 
"  are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself  ?  You  are  not  a 
boy,  you  know.  Ah !  now  my  head  begins  to  ache. 
Where  is  Zoe  ?  can't  you  tell  me  ? " 
.  "  I  suppose  she  is  upstairs.  In  such  weather  a 
wise  fox  always  makes  for  his  hole." 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  Anne  Vasilievna  looked 
around  her.  "  Have  you  not  seen  my  glass  of  bit 
ters  ?  Paul,  for  the  future,  be  so  kind  as  not  to  irri 
tate  me." 

"  How  have  I  vexed  you,  aunt !  Well,  let  me 
kiss  your  hand.  As  to  the  bitters,  I  saw  your  glass 
on  the  table  in  the  study." 


On  the  Eve.  61 

"  Dorothy  is  always  leaving  it  somewhere  or  oth 
er,"  grumbled  Anne  Vasilievna,  as  she  left  the  room, 
her  silk  dress  rustling  behind  her. 

Shoubine  was  about  to  go  out  after  her,  but 
was  arrested  by  the  meditative  voice  of  Urban  Ivan- 
ovitch. 

"  May  you  not  have  acted  like  a  simpleton  ? " 
said  the  ex-cornet,  bringing  out  his  words  by  jerks 
and  intervals. 

Shoubine  came  up  to  him.  "  And  pray,  worthy  Ur 
ban  Ivanovitch,  how  should  I  act  ?  " 

"  How  ?  you  are  young  :  so,  respect :  yes." 

"  Respect  whom  ?  " 

"  Whom  ?  you  know  :  why  pretend  you  don't  ?  " 

"  You  see,"  replied  Shoubine,  "  he  is  no  younker, 
is  a  nobleman,  and  yet  what  a  child  in  credulity  and 
simple  faith !  Respect !  And  do  you  know  why  Nich 
olas  Artemvitch  is  angry  with  me  ?  Well,  I  spent  the 
whole  morning  with  him  at  his  German  friend's  :  we 
sang  a  trio,  Do  not,  do  not  leave  me ;  a  pity  you  were 
not  there,  it  just  suits  your  voice.  So  we  sang,  my 
dear  sir,  and  sang,  till  I  began  to  grow  quite  weary ; 
and  I  saw  it  was  a  hopeless  affair,  an  enormous  amount 
of  loving.  I  began  making  fun  of  them  both :  and 
got  on  swimmingly.  At  first  she  was  angry  with  me, 
then  with  him ;  and  next  he  got  in  a  rage  with  her, 
and  told  her  that  he  was  only  happy  at  home,  that  his 
home  was  his  paradise ;  and  she  replied  that  he  had 
no  manners  ;  whereupon  I  suggested  no  German  man- 


62  On  the  Eve. 

ners  :  and  he  wenVoff  in  a  huff,  but  I  stayed  behind ; 
he  .x^_mje...rieFe,  that  is,  to  his  paradise,  but  even  his 
paradise  has  no  delights  for  him.  That  is  why  he 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  grumbling.  And  now  which 
of  us  do  you  think  is  to  blame  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  you  are,"  answered  Urban  Ivan- 
ovitch. 

Shoubine  came  close  up  to  him.  "  May  I  venture 
to  ask  you,  my  excellent  chevalier,"  he  said  in  a  tone 
of  mock  deference,  "  whether  you  have  condescended 
to  pronounce  these  enigmatical  words  with  the  wish 
to  try  the  extent  of  your  thinking  faculties,  or  merely 
under  the  influence  of  a  momentary  desire  to  give 
your  tongue  an  airing  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  satirical,"  sighed  Urban  Ivanovitch. 

Shoubine  gave  a  laugh,  and  quitted  the  room.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  after  Urban  Ivanovitch  was  to  be 
heard  crying  out,  "  Eh,  you  there,  bring  me  a  glass  of 
cognac." 

The  young  Cossack  brought  the  cognac  and  some 
schnapps  on  a  waiter.  Urban  Ivanovitch  took  the 
wine-glass  from  the  tray  very  deliberately,  and  looked 
at  it  for  a  long  while  with  deep  attention,  as  though  he 
were  not  quite  sure  what  it  was  he  had  in  his  hand. 
Then  he  gazed  at  the  Cossack,  and  asked  him  whether 
Basil  was  not  calling  him.  He  then  put  on  a  mourn 
ful  expression,  drank  off  the  cognac,  and  began  very 
slowly  taking  his  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket.  But 
the  Cossack  had  already  put  by  the  tray  and  liquor 


On  the  E 

bottle,  eaten  what  remained  of 

ceeded  in  falling  asleep,  whilst  Urban* 

still  fumbling  for  his  handkerchief,  and  gazing  with 

the  same  fixed  stare  at  the  window,  then  at  the  floor, 

and  finally  at  the  wall. 


64  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A     HOPELESS     CASE. 

SHOUBINE  proceeded  at  once  to  his  room,  and 
sat  down  to  read.  One  of  the  servants  of  Nich 
olas  Artemvitch  came  cautiously  in,  and  seeing  that 
he  was  alone  gave  him  a  small  three-cornered  note, 
sealed  with  a  large  heraldic  seal.  The  note  read  as 
follows  :  "  I  hope  that  you,  as  an  honorable  man,  will 
not  allow  yourself  to  hint  to  anyone  by  a  single  word 
what  you  happened  to  hear  this  morning  in  reference 
to  a  certain  bill  of  exchange.  My  position  is  known 
to  you,  the  trifling  nature  of  the  sum,  and  other  circum 
stances  :  besides,  it  is  a  family  secret  that  has  a  right 
to  be  respected  ;  and  the  peace  of  a  family  is  a  thing 
so  sacred  that  none  but  fares  sans  cceur,  in  which  class 
I  do  not  include  yourself,  would  ever  dare  to  disturb 
it.  Please  to  return  this  note.  N.  S." 

Shoubine  scrawled  these  words  underneath  in  pen 
cil  :  "  Don't  be  afraid :  mum  is  the  word,"  gave  the 
note  back  to  the  servant,  and  took  up  his  book  again. 
But  he  soon  let  it  fall  listlessly  from  his  hand.  He 
gazed  on  the  red  sky,  on  two  hardy  firs,  which  grew 
quite  apart  from  the  other  trees,  and  thinking  to  him 


On  the  Eve.  65 

self,  "  In  the  day  firs  are  blue,  but  in  the  evening  what 
a  magnificent  green  they  have  !  "  went  out  into  the 
garden,  with  the  secret  hope  of  meeting  Ellen  there. 
He  was  not  disappointed.  Straight  before  him,  along 
the  path  that  ran  between  some  bushes,  was  to  be  seen 
the  shimmer  of  her  dress.  He  overtook  her,  and  as 
he  came  up  to  her  side,  he  muttered,  "  Don't  look 
this  way  ;  I  am  not  worth  it." 

She  gave  a  quick  glance  at  him,  and  with  a  low 
laugh  hurried  foward  toward  the  centre  of  the  garden. 
Shoubine  followed  her. 

"  I  ask  you  not  to  look  at  me,"  he  began,  "  and 
yet  I  talk  to  you,  which  is  slightly  inconsistent.  But 
it  is  all  the  same,  it  is  not  the  first  time  I  am  so.  I 
have  just  recollected  that  I  have  not  yet,  as  I  ought 
to  have  done,  begged  your  pardon  for  my  stupid  be 
havior  yesterday.  You  are  not  angry  with  me,  Ellen 
Nicholaevna  ?" 

She  stood  still,  but  did  not  answer  him  at  first, 
not  that  she  was  angry,  but  her  thoughts  were  else 
where. 

"  No,"  she  said  at  length,  "  I  am  not  in  the  least 
angry." 

"  What  a  preoccupied,  and  yet  what  a  quiet  expres 
sion  !"  thought  Shoubine,  and  then  continued  aloud, 
"  Ellen  Nicholaevna  let  me  tell  you  a  little  story.  I 
once  had  a  friend,  and  this  friend  had  in  his  turn  anoth 
er  friend  who  for  a  while  conducted  himself  as  a  re 
spectable  man  should,  but  at  last  took  to  drinking 
5 


66  On  the  Eve. 

Once  early  in  the  morning  my  friend  met  him  in  the 
street — you  understand  they  were  already  friends — • 
but  perceiving  he  was  drunk,  turned  aside  from  him 
as  though  he  had  not  seen  him.  Whereupon  the  lat 
ter  came  up  to  him  and  said,  '  I  should  not  have  been 
angry  at  your  bowing  to  me  ;  but  why  turn  aside  from 
me  ?  Is  it  that  I  cause  you  shame  ?  Peace  to  my 
ashes  !"  Shoubine  was  silent. 

"And  is  that  all?"  Ellen  asked.  "I  do  not  un 
derstand  you.  What  do  you  mean?  You  only  just 
now  told  me  that  I  was  not  to  look  at  you." 

"  Yes,  and  now  I  tell  you  how  ill  it  is  to  turn 
aside." 

"  And  did  I  really—"  began  Ellen. 

"  Did  you  not?" 

Ellen  blushed  slightly,  and  stretched  out  her  hand 
to  Shoubine.  He  pressed  it  warmly. 

"  You  have  caught  me  not  in  the  best  of  humors," 
said  Ellen ; "  but  your  suspicions  are  not  just.  I  never 
wished  to  be  cold  to  you." 

"  Granted,  granted.  But  confess  that  you  have  at 
this  moment  a  thousand  thoughts  flitting  through  your 
head,  not  one  of  which  you  would  consent  to  confide 
to  me  ?  Well,  is  it  not  true  what  I  say  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is." 

"  But  why  ?     But  why  ?  " 

"  My  thoughts  are  not  quite  clear  to  myself,"  an 
swered  Ellen. 

"  Then  confide  them  to  another,"  replied  Shoubiae 


On  the  Eve.  67 

"  But  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is  ;  you  have  a  bad  opin 
ion  of  me." 

"  I  ? " 

"  Yes,  you.  You  fancy  that  everything  about  me 
is  half-shame,  because  I  am  an  artist  ;  that  I  am  not 
good  for  anything — perhaps  you  are  right  there — not 
even  capable  of  a  sincere  deep  feeling;  that  I  can  feel 
no  real  grief;  that  I  am  but  a  farceur  and  a  player: 
and  all  because  I  am  an  artist.  Are  we  not  unfortun 
ate,  God-forsaken  creatures  ?  You,  I  would  swear,  you 
don't  believe  in  my  contrition." 

"  No,  Paul  Jakovlevitch,  I  believe  in  your  repent 
ance,  and  I  believe  in  your  grief ;  but  I  think  that 
your  very  repentance,  and  your  grief  too,  amuse  you." 

Shoubine  shuddered.  "  So,  I  see,  it  is,  as  the  doc 
tors  say,  a  hopeless  case,  casus  inctirabilis.  There  is 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  bow  the  head  and  submit. 
And  yet,  heavens,  is  it  really  so,  that  I  must  live  com 
pletely  isolated,  whilst  close  beside  me  breathes  a  soul 
so  pure  ?  And  to  know  that  I  can  never  fathom  that 
soul,  never  come  to  know  what  it  is  that  afflicts  it, 
why  it  rejoices,  in  what  fancies  it  indulges,  what  are 
its  desires,  or  what  its  aspirations.  But  tell  me,"  he 
added  after  a  short  silence,  "  you  never,  not  for  any 
thing,  under  no  circumstances,  could  be  brought  to 
love  an  artist." 

Ellen  looked  straight  in  his  eyes  as  she  answered, 
''I  do  not  think  I  could,  Paul  Jakovlevitch." 

"  Quod  erat  demonstrandum"  replied   Shoubine, 


68  On  the  Eve. 

with  a  comical  smile.  "  And  now,  I  suppose,  I  have 
no  right  to  disturb  your  solitary  walk.  A  professor,  to 
be  sure,  might  ask  on  what  grounds  you  gave  that  an 
swer,  No.  But  I  am  no  professor,  a  mere  child  in 
your  opinion ;  but  even  from  children  do  not  turn 
aside,  remember  that.  Good-bye.  Peace  to  my  ashes  !" 

Ellen  wished  to  retain  him  ;  but  after  a  moment's 
reflection  said  merely,  "  Good-bye." 

Shoubine  hurried  out  of  the  garden,  but  had  not 
gone  far  when  he  met  Bersieneff.  "  Andrew  Petro- 
vitch  !  "  cried  Shoubine.  The  latter  stopped.  "  Go 
on,  go  on,"  continued  Shoubine  ;  "  I  only  spoke  so ; 
I  won't  keep  you :  go  on,  as  quickly  as  you  can,  into 
the  garden ;  Ellen  is  there — apparently  she  is  waiting 
for  you ;  at  least,  she  is  waiting  for  somebody.  You 
understand  :  she  is  waiting  !  Ah,  my  friend,  what  a 
strange  history !  Imagine,  for  these  two  years  I  have 
been  living  with  her  in  the  same  house,  loved  her,  and 
only  now,  this  very  minute,  understanding  nothing, 
saw  her, — saw  her,  and  parted.  Do  not  despise  me, 
I  pray,  with  that  would-be  sarcastic  smile  which  sits 
but  ill  upon  you ;  yes,  I  understand,  you  mean  to  re 
mind  me  of  Annette.  What  then  ?  I  don't  make  pre 
tensions.  Annettes  are  below  our  great  friend.  So  hail 
to  Annette  and  Zoe  ;  ah,  and  even  Atigustina !  You 
go  now  to  Ellen,  she  is  in  the  garden ;  and  I — you 
think  I  am  going  to  Annette's  ?  No,  my  good  friend, 
much  worse,  to  Prince  Tchikurasoff :  he  is  a  kind  of 
Mecaenas  among  the  Tartars  of  Kayan.  You  see  this 


On  the  Eve.  69 

invitation  fiom  the  Prince,  these  mystic  letters  R.  S. 
V.  P.  ?    There  is  no  rest  even  in  the  country." 

Bersieneff  listened  to  Shoubine's  tirade  in  silence, 
though  not  without  confusion;  and  then  set  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  Stachoffs'  garden.  Shoubine  did  act 
ually  go  to  see  Prince  Tchikurasoff,  and  talked  with 
him  in  the  most  familiar  style,  and  with  something  like 
caustic  insolence.  The  Tartar  Mecaenas  laughed,  his 
guests  ventured  to  smile,  all  were  equally  dull,  and 
before  they  separated  every  one  was  alike  irritated.  In 
the  same  way,should  two  loving  acquaintances  meet 
on  the  Nevsky,  they  directly  begin  showing  their  teeth 
to  one  another,  and  smirk  away  with  all  their  might ; 
but  no  sooner  have  they  passed  one  another  than 
each  resumes  his  equally  serious  expression  of  coun 
tenance. 


70  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  BULGARIAN'S  WRONGS. 

ELLEN  received  Bersieneff  in  a  most  friendly 
manner  \  not  in  the  garden,  however,  but  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  at  once,  with  something  like 
impatience,  went  back  to  the  subject  of  yesterday's 
conversation.  She  was  alone  :  Nicholas  Artemvitch 
had  quietly  gone  off,  no  one  knew  whither ;  Anne 
Vasilievna  was  lying  up  stairs,  with  a  wet  towel  round 
her  head ;  Zoe  was  sitting  by  her,  supposed  to  be  re 
pairing  a  petticoat,  but  with  her  hands  idly  crossed 
on  her  knees ;  Urban  Ivanovitch  was  reposing  in 
the  garret  on  a  broad  comfortable  sofa,  which  from 
its  enormous  size  had  been  baptized  the  Samson 
sofa.  Bersieneff  again  began  talking  of  his  father; 
nothing  could  be  more  touching  than  his  religious 
reverence  for  all  that  concerned  his  father.  We  too 
will  take  this  opportunity  of  saying  a  few  words  about 
him. 

The  proprietor  of  eighty-two  serfs,  whom  he  freed 
before  his  death,  one  of  the  illuminati,  an  old  stu 
dent  of  Gottingen  University,  and  author  of  a  manu 
script  composition,  entitled  Antitypes^  or  Emblems  of 


On  the  Eve.  71 

the,  Soul  in  the  Physical  World ,  in  which  there  was  a 
quaint  mixture  of  Hegelism,  Swedenborgianism,  and 
Republicanism,  Bersieneffs  father  took  him  to  Mos 
cow  whilst  he  was  still  a  mere  boy,  immediately  after 
his  mother's  death,  and  superintended  his  education 
himself.  He  assisted  him  in  his  preparation  for 
every  lesson,  was  never  tired  of  working  with  him, 
and  yet  all  his  labors  were  fruitless ;  for  he  was  a 
dreamer,  a  book-worm,  a  mystic,  had  no  fluency  of 
speech,  expressed  himself  darkly  and  ambiguously, 
indulged  in  strange  comparisons  and  similitudes,  and 
thus  estranged  his  son,  in  spite  of  his  passionate  love 
for  him.  The  boy  only  went  to  sleep  over  his  les 
sons,  and  made  no  progress  in  any  one  of  his  studies- 
The  old  man — he  was  about  fifty,  and  had  married 
late  in  life — at  last  perceived  that  things  were  not  go 
ing  on  favorably,  and  placed  his  son  Andrew  at  a 
school.  Andrew  began  to  study  for  himself,  but  was 
not  released  from  his  father's  surveillance;  the  old 
man  was  for  ever  paying  him  visits,  worried  the  poor 
schoolmaster  to  death  with  his  advice  and  sugges 
tions  ;  the  ushers  too  were  pestered  by  their  unin 
vited  guest,  who  was  constantly  bringing  them  some 
valuable  book  on  education.  The  very  pupils  were 
ashamed  of  the  old  man's  swarthy,  wrinkled  face,  his 
lank  figure,  and  his  eternal  grey  coat  that  hung  about 
him  like  a  sack.  Little  did  these  same  pupils  suspect 
that  this  same  serious,  smileless  old  man,  with  his 
stork-like  gait  and  long  nose,  fretted  and  worried  over 


72  On  the  Eve. 

the  welfare  and  success  of  each  of  them  as  though 
they  were  his  own  sonsN  Once  he  determined  to 
make  a  speech  to  them  about  Washington.  "  My 
young  children,"  he  began;  but  at  the  first  sounds  of 
his  cracked  voice  all  his  young  children  scampered 
off.  The  worthy  Gottingen  professor  did  not  live  on 
a  bed  of  roses,  but  was  being  perpetually  nonplussed 
by  the  march  of  events,  bothered  by  new  questions 
and  new  theroies.  When  young  Bersieneff  entered 
the  university,  the  father  religiously  attended  all  the 
lectures  ;  but  his  health  was  already  beginning  to  give 
way.  The  events  of  1848  fairly  killed  him,  his  whole 
book  required  rewriting !  and  he  died  in  the  winter 
of  his  fifty-third  year,  before  his  son  had  finished  his 
university  career,  but  still  able  to  congratulate  him  on 
his  candidate's  degree,  and  to  dedicate  him  solemnly 
to  the  study  of  the  sciences.  "  I  hand  over  to  you 
the  lamp  of  knowledge,"  were  his  dying  words ;  "  I 
have  guarded  it  as  long  as  was  permitted  me :  see 
that  you  keep  it  faithfully  to  the  end." 

Long  did  Bersieneff  speak  to  Ellen  of  his  father. 
The  awkward  shyness  he  had  before  felt  in  her  pres 
ence  gradually  disappeared,  nor  did  he  lisp  so  much 
in  his  speech.  The  conversation  turned  upon  his 
university  career. 

"Tell  me,"  Ellen  asked  him,  "were  there  any  re 
markable  men  up  in  your  time  ?  " 

Bersieneff  thought  of  Shoubine  again. 

"No,  Ellen    Nicholaevna;  to  tell  you  the  truth, 


On  the  Eve.  73 

we  had  not  one  remarkable  man  amongst  us.  And 
then  how  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  They  say  there 
was  a  time  when  Moscow  University  was  worthy  of 
its  title.  But  it  is  no  longer  so.  Now  it  is  only  a 
school, — no  university  at  all.  I  found  no  pleasure  in 
my  fellow-students,"  he  continued  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  No  pleasure  ?  "  murmured  Ellen. 

"  And  yet,"  continued  Bersieneff,  "I  must  correct 
myself.  I  know  one  student, — it  is  true,  he  is  not  of 
the  same  standing  as  myself, — who  is  really  a  remark 
able  man." 

"And  what  is  his  name  ?  "  eagerly  asked  Ellen. 

"  Insaroff,  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch.  He  is  a 
Bulgarian." 

"  Not  a  Russian  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  Russian." 

"  Why  then  does  he  live  at  Moscow  ? " 

"  He  went  there  in  order  to  study.  And  dp  you 
know  with  what  aim  he  is  studying  ?  He  has  but  one 
idea,  the  freedom  of  his  country.  And  his  history  is 
an  extraordinary  one.  His  father,  a  merchant  suf 
ficiently  well-to-do  in  the  world,  was  born  at  TernorT. 
Ternoffis  now  a  little  town,  but  it  was  once  the  capital 
city  of  Bulgaria,  when  Bulgaria  was  still  an  independ 
ent  kingdom.  He  carried  on  trade  in  Sophia,  and 
had  business  transactions  in  Russia  :  his  sister,  In- 
saroffs  aunt,  lives  at  the  present  moment  at  Kieff, 
having  married  an  old  teacher  of  history  in  one  of 
the  schools  there.  In  1835,  that  is  just  eighteen  years 


74  On  the  Eve. 

ago,  a  terrible  crime  was  committed  :  Insaroff's  moth 
er  disappeared  suddenly  leaving  no  trace  behind  her, 
and  within  a  week  her  dead  body  was  discovered,  the 
throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear." 

Ellen  trembled  with  fright,  and  Bersieneff  stopped 
short. 

"  Go  on  !  Go  on  !  "  she  whispered. 

"  It  was  currently  reported  that  the  Turkish  Aga 
had  first  violated  and  then  murdered  her  ;  her  hus 
band,  Insaroff's  father,  discovered  that  it  really  was  so, 
and  resolved  to  be  revenged,  but  only  succeeded  in 
wounding  the  Aga  with  a  dagger.  He  was  immedi 
ately  shot." 

"  Shot  ?  without  a  trial  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Insaroff  was  then  in  his  eighth  year.  He 
was  given  into  the  charge  of  a  neighbor.  But  when 
his  father's  sister  learned  what  a  terrible  tragedy  had 
been  enacted  in  her  brother's  family,  she  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  bring  up  her  nephew.  He  was  accordingly 
removed  to  Odessa,  and  thence  to  Kieff.  In  Kieff  he 
lived  altogether  twenty  years.  That  is  why  he  speaks 
Russian  so  well." 

"  He  speaks  Russian  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  you  or  I.  When  he  had  attained  his 
twentieth  year — that  was. in  the  beginning  of  1848 — 
he  wished  to  return  to  his  fatherland.  He  went  to 
Sophia,  to  Ternoff,  and  travelled  all  over  Bulgaria, 
spending  two  years  there,  and  thus  learned  his  native 
language  again.  He  suffered  a  great  deal  of  persecu- 


On  the  Eve.  75 

tion  at  the  hands  of  the  Turkish  government,  and 
must  during  those  two  years  have  often  been  in  great 
danger.  I  once  remarked  on  his  neck  a  broad  cica 
trice,  evidently  the  trace  of  a  severe  wound :  but  he 
does  not  like  to  talk  of  all  this.  He  is  naturally  very 
taciturn.  I  have  tried  to  get  the  whole  story  out  of 
him,  but  never  succeeded,  as  he  invariably  answered 
in  some  vague  way.  He  is  terribly  self-willed.  In 
1850  he  went  to  Moscow,  with  the  intention  of  com 
pleting  his  studies,  and  in  order  to  become  united 
with  the  Russians,  but  when  he  has  finished  his  uni 
versity  career " 

"  What  will  lie  do  then  ?  "  interrupted  Ellen. 

"  What  God  wills.  It  takes  a  wise  man  to  divine 
the  future." 

Ellen  looked  earnestly  and  long  at  Bersieneff. 
"  You  have  interested  me  very  much  by  your  story," 
she  said  ;  "  what  kind  of  man  is  he,  this  friend  of 
yours  ?  how  did  you  call  him — Insaroff  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say  :  in  my  opinion,  not 
a  bad  fellow.  But  you  will  see  him,  and  can  judge  for 
yourself." 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

I  will  bring  him  over  to  see  you.  He  is  coming 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  will  live  with  me  the 
rest  of  the  summer." 

"  Really  !  But  will  he  care  about  coming  to  see  us?" 

"  Why  not !  He  will  be  very  glad." 

"  He  is  n&t  proud  ?  " 


76  On  the  Eve. 

"  Proud  ?  Yes,  a  little ;  that  is,  if  you  like,  he  is 
proud,  but  not  in  the  sense  you  mean.  For  example, 
he  will  never  borrow  a  penny  from  any  one." 

"  He  is  poor  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  is  not  rich.  When  he  went  to  Bulgaria, 
he  got  together  the  little  that  remained  of  his  father's 
property,  and  his  aunt  helped  him  ;  but  he  has  not 
much  wealth  to  boast  of." 

"  He  must  have  a  great  deal  of  character,"  Ellen 
said. 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  man  of  iron  will.  And  yet,  together 
with  all  his  self-reliance  and  reserve,  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  childish  openness  about  him.  True,  he  is  not 
open  after  the  manner  of  our  people,  who  are  very 
open,  because  they  have  nothing  worth  hiding.  But 
I  will  bring  him  to  see  you,  only  wait  a  little." 

"  And  he  is  not  shy  ? "  Ellen  asked  again. 

"  Certainly  not.     Only  selfish  peoole  are  shy." 

"  Are  you  selfish  then  ?  " 

Bersieneff  smiled  as  he  began  playing  with  his 
fingers. 

"  You  have  excited  my  curiosity,"  continued  Ellen. 
"  But,  tell  me,  he  never  revenged  himself  on  the  Turk 
ish  Aga  ? " 

"  Vengeance  is  all  very  well  in  novels,  Ellen  Nich- 
olaevna  ;  and,  besides,  it  is  most  likely  that  the  Aga 
died  in  the  course  of  those  twenty  years." 

"  But  Mr.  Insaroff  never  spoke  to  you  about  it  ?" 

"  Never." 


On  the  Eve.  77 

"  Why  did  he  go  to  Sophia  ?  " 

"  His  father  had  lived  there." 

Ellen  was  lost  in  thought.  "  To  free  one's  coun 
try  !  "  she  murmured.  u  These  words  have  a  magic 
ring  in  them ;  they  are  noble  words." 

At  this  moment  Anne  Vasilievna  came  into  the 
room,  and  the  conversation  was  interrupted. 

Strange  feelings  possessed  Bersieneff  as  he  re 
turned  home  that  evening.  He  did  not  repent  of 
his  promise  to  make  Ellen  acquainted  with  InsarorT; 
he  found  the  deep  impression  which  his  stories  about 
the  young  Bulgarian  had  produced  on  her  to  be  but 
natural,— nay,  had  he  not  himself  done  his  best  to 
strengthen  this  impression  ?  But  there  was  a  secret 
ill-defined  feeling  of  anger  in  his  heart ;  he  was  op 
pressed  with  a  heaviness  of  spirit,  though  he  scarce 
knew  why.  But  this  melancholy  did  not  prevent  his 
sitting  down  to  the  History  of  Hotftenstauffen,  and  he 
began  reading  from  the  page  where  he  had  left  off 
the  night  before. 


78  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

INSAROFF'S    WORK. 

TWO  days  later  Insaroff  arrived  at  Koontsoff 
with  a  very  small  amount  of  luggage.  He  had 
no  servant,  but  without  making  any  ado  at  once  set 
about  putting  his  room  in  order,  arranged  the  furni 
ture,  dusted  it  all,  and  then  swept  the  floor.  His 
greatest  trouble  was  with  the  writing-table,  which  for 
a  long  while  refused  to  settle  down  in  the  corner  as 
signed  for  it;  but  Insaroff,  with  the  patient  persis 
tence  natural  to  him,  finaly  succeeded  in  overcoming 
its  obstinacy.  When  all  was  arranged,  he  enclosed 
to  Bersieneff  ten  roubles  in  advance;  and  then,  arm 
ing  himself  with  a  stout  stick,  set  out  to  reconnoitre 
the  environs  of  his  new  dwelling.  He  returned  in 
about  three  hours'  time,  and  in  reply  to  Bersieneff 's 
proposal  that  they  should  keep  common  table,  ac 
cepted  the  invitation  to  dinner  for  that  day,  but  in 
formed  him  that  he  had  already  made  arrangements 
with  the  landlady  of  the  house,  who  had  agreed  to 
supply  him  with  his  meals. 

"  My    good  fellow,"  cried    Bersieneff,   "  you   will 
fare  very  badly.     The  old  woman  has  not  the  remot- 


On  the  Eve.  79 

est  idea  of  cooking.  Why  don't  you  cline  with  me  ? 
We  might  divide  the  expenses." 

"  My  means  don't  allow  me  to  dine  as  you  are  ac 
customed  to  do,"  answered  Insaroff,  with  a  quiet 
smile. 

There  was  something  in  this  smile  which  forbade 
any  further  discussion,  and  Bersieneff  said  no  more. 
After  dinner  he  proposed  that  they  should  call  upon 
the  Stachoffs  \  but  Insaroff  declared  his  intention  to 
devote  the  whole  evening  to  letter-writing,  and  begged 
Bersieneff  to  postpone  the  visit  till  another  day.  The 
inflexibility  of  Insaroff  was  well  known  to  Bersieneff ; 
but  now  that  they  were  living  under  one  roof  he 
might  reasonably  have  been  offended  at  this  precis 
ion  in  matters  of  the  most  trifling  import.  To  Ber 
sieneff,  a  genuine  Russian,  this  more  than  German 
accuracy  at  first  appeared  to  be  a  violation  of  good 
manners,  and  even  somewhat  ridiculous  ;  but  he  soon 
accustomed  himself  to  it;  and  if  he  could  not  justify 
it  on  the  score  of  politeness,  grew  reconciled  as  to  an 
inevitable  thing. 

On  the  second  day  after  his  arrival,  Insaroff  got 
up  at  four  o'clock,  took  a  tremendous  walk,  had  a 
bath  in  the  river,  and  after  a  draught  of  good  fresh 
milk  returned  home,  and  sat  down  to  work.  His  work 
was  of  the  most  varied  kind;  he  was  learning  Rus 
sian  history,  law,  and  political  economy,  was  trans 
lating  some  of  the  Bulgarian  songs  and  chronicles, 
was  collecting  materials  in  reference  to  the  Eastern 


8o  On  the  Eve. 

question,  and  was  engaged  on  a  Russian  grammai 
for  Bulgarians,  and  a  Bulgarian  grammar  for  Rus 
sians.  BersienerT  came  in,  and  began  talking  about 
Feuerbach.  InsarofT  listened  attentively  to  what  he 
said,  answered  little,  but  to  the  point ;  and  from  his 
replies  it  was  evident  that  he  was  already  cogitating 
the  problem  whether  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  oc 
cupy  himself  with  Feuerbach,  or  whether  he  could 
do  without  him.  Bersieneff  then  turned  the  conver 
sation  on  what  he  was  working  at,  and  asked  him  to 
show  him  some  of  his  manuscripts.  Insaroff  read  to 
him  the  translation  of  two  or  three  Bulgarian  songs, 
and  begged  his  judgment  of  their  merits.  Bersieneff 
found  the  version  to  be  correct,  but  cold  and  lifeless  ; 
and  Insaroff  made  a  note  of  the  corrections  he  sug 
gested.  From  the  songs  BersienerT  went  on  to  speak 
of  the  present  position  of  Bulgaria,  and  then  for  the 
first  time  remarked  what  a  change  came  over  Insa- 
roiT  at  the  mere  mention  of  his  country :  not  that  his 
countenance  lighted  up  or  that  his  voice  was  raised, 
— no  !  but  his  whole  being  as  it  were  grew  into  some 
thing  rugged  and  impassive  ;  there  was  a  stern  inexo 
rable  firmness  in  the  tight  compression  of  his  lips, 
and  in  his  eyes  there  glowed  a  dull  unquenchable  fire. 
InsarofT  did  not  like  to  talk  of  his  own  journey  to 
Sophia,  but  was  ready  to  speak  with  any  one  of  Bul 
garia.  He  spoke,  but  quietly,  of  the  Turks,  of  their 
oppression,  of  the  wrongs  and  sufferings  his  country 
men  had  had  to  endure,  and  of  their  hopes  for  a  hap- 


On  the  Eve.  81 

pier  future.  The  concentrated  force  of  one  idea  and 
of  one  passionate  desire  was  to  be  heard  in  his  every 
word. 

"  I  much  suspect,"  thought  Bersieneff,  as  he  list 
ened  to  him,  "  that  the  Turkish  Aga  was  made  to  pay 
dearly  for  the  murder  of  my  friend's  father  and 
mother." 

Insaroff  had  scarcely  finished  speaking,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  Shoubine  appeared  on  the  thresh 
old.  There  was  a  jauntiness  and  an  excess  of  ease 
in  his  manner  of  entering  the  room  which  at  once 
told  BersienefF,  who  knew  him  thoroughly,  that  some 
thing  was  agitating  him. 

"  I  will  introduce  myself  without  any  of  the  usual 
formalities,"  he  began  in  a  jocular  tone.  "  My  name 
is  Shoubine,  and  I  am  a  friend  of  this  young  man's 
(he  pointed  to  Bersieneff)  \  and  you  are  Mr.  Insaroff, 
are  you  not  ?  " 

"I  am." 

"Then  give  me  your  hand,  and  let  us  be  friends. 
I  don't  know  whether  Bersieneff  has  ever  spoken  to 
you  of  me,  but  he  has  scores  of  times  talked  to  me 
about  you.  So  you  have  taken  up  your  quarters 
here  ?  Nothing  could  be  better.  Don't  be  angry  if 
I  look  at  you  rather  fixedly.  I  am  a  sculptor  by 
trade,  and  I  warn  you  beforehand,  I  shall  ask  your 
permission  ere  long  to  take  a  model  of  your  head." 

"  My  head  is  at  your  service,"  replied  Insaroff. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  to-day  eh  ?  "  continued  Shou- 


82  On  the  Eve. 

bine,  sitting;<J0wn  on  a  low  chair,  and  lolling  forward 
as  he  spoke".  What  say  you,  Andrew  Petrovitch,  has 
your  honor  formed  any  plan  for  to-day  ?  The  weather 
is  magnificent,  and  to  sniff  the  hay  and  fresh  fruit 
were  very  rapture.  We  really  must  make  up  some 
pleasure  trip.  Let  us  show  Koontsoff  ?s  new  inhabi 
tant  all  its  many  beauties."  ("  What  is  it  that  he  is 
suffering  from  ?  'y  Bersieneff  still  continued  to  ask 
himself.)  "  Well,  why  do  you  keep  silent,  my  friend 
Horatio  ?  Open  those  oracular  lips  of  yours.  Shall 
we  amuse  ourselves,  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  observed  Bersieneff;  "  better  ask 
Insaroff ;  I  rather  fancy  he  wants  to  work." 

Shoubine  turned  round  on  his  chair.  "  Ah  you 
want  to  work  ?  "  he  asked  in  something  like  a  peevish 
voice. 

"  No,"  answered  Insaroff;  "  I  am  quite  ready  to 
give  up  to-day  to  a  long  walk." 

"  Now  that's  excellent,"  cried  Shoubine.  u  Come, 
my  dear  Andrew,  cover  that  wise  head  with  your  cap, 
and  let  us  go  as  far  as  our  legs  will  carry  us.  They 
are  young  legs,  and  will  probably  take  us  a  long  way. 
I  know  of  a  wretched  inn,  where  they'll  give  us  an 
atrocious  dinner :  but  never  mind,  we  shall  enjoy  our 
selves.  Let's  be -going." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  all  three  walking 
along  the  bank  of  the  river  Moscow.  Shoubine  was 
in  ecstasies  at  the  shape  and  color  of  the  travelling- 
cap  which  Insaroff  wore.  Insaroff  walked  at  a  slow 


On  the  Eve. 

pace,  frequently  stopping  to  examinQ^ajji^plant,  and 
conversed  with  his  friends  in  a  low,  quiefe$§fiL<*.  "  > 
the  way  good  boys  walk  on  a  Sunday,"  Shoubine 
whispered  in  BersienefFs  ear.  As  for  Shoubine,  he 
was  childish  in  his  frolics,  now  running  in  advance, 
now  putting  himself  in  some  classical  pose,  now 
pirouetting  on  the  grass ;  and  the  more  serious  Insa- 
roff  was,  the  more  extravagant  were  his  antics. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  flighty,  you  Frenchman  ?  " 
asked  Bersieneff  more  than  once. 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  Frenchman,  at  least,  half  French ; 
but  you  can  keep  the  medium  between  sport  and 
earnest,"  answered  Shoubine. 

The  young  men  at  length  leaving  the  river  pro 
ceeded  by  a  narrow  and  descending  path  lined  on 
either  side  by  luxuriant  golden  rye :  a  light-blue 
shadow  was  cast  on  them  from  its  lofty  stalks,  and  the 
rays  of  the  sun  played  along  its  topmost  ears ;  the 
larks  were  singing  above  them,  and  the  chant  of  birds 
was  to  be  heard  all  around  ;  green  meadows  stretched 
before  them ;  a  warm  wind  gently  ruffled  the  leaves  of 
the  trees,  and  softly  bent  the  heads  of  the  flowers. 
Thus  strolling,  resting,  and  frolicking  (Shoubine  at 
one  time  tried  to  have  a  game  at  leapfrog  with  an  old 
toothless  peasant  they  chanced  to  overtake,  who  only 
grinned  at  the  "  gentlefolks'  tricks  "  )  they  arrived  at 
the  wretched  inn  for  which  they  were  bound.  The 
waiter  nearly  upset  them  in  his  eagerness  to  serve 
them,  and  certainly  gave  them  a  most  execrable  din- 


84  On  the  Eve. 

ner,  with  some  kind  of  outlandish  wine,  which,  how 
ever,  did  not  prevent  their  being  very  merry,  as  Shou* 
bine  had  predicted  ;  he  being  the  merriest,  and  at  the 
same  time  the  least  gay,  of  the  party.  He  drank  noisily 
to  the  health  of  the  long  forgotten,  but  once  illustrious, 
Venelin  ;  to  the  health  of  the  Bulgarian  King  Kruma, 
Chuma,  or  Chroma,  who  lived  somewhere  in  the 
Adamic  period,  as  he  informed  the  company. 

"  In  the  ninth  century, "  quietly  observed  Insaroff. 

"  In  the  ninth  century !  "  exclaimed  Shoubine. 
"  Happy  fate  !  " 

Bersieneff  noticed  that  amidst  all  his  pranks,  sal 
lies,  and  jokes,  Shoubine  was  attentively  observing  In 
saroff  as  if  he  would  probe  and  examine  him  thorough 
ly  :  but  as  for  Insaroff,  he  preserved  from  first  to  last 
the  same  quiet  and  equable  demeanor. 

At  last  they  turned  homeward,  then  changed  their 
dress,  and,  that  the  day  might  end  as  it  had  begun, 
resolved  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Stachoffs  in  the  evening ; 
Shoubine  running  on  before  them  to  announce  their 
arrival. 


On  the  Eve.  85 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE     HERO      INSAROFF. 

"  r  I  ^HE  hero  Insaroff  is  on  his  way  here !  "  he  tri- 

J-  umphantly  exclaimed,  as  he  burst  into  the  draw 
ing-room,  where  at  that  moment  Ellen  and  Zoe  were 
sitting  alone. 

"  Wer?"  asked  Zoe,  in  German.  Whenever  she 
was  taken  unawares,  Zoe  always  spoke  in  her  mother- 
tongue.  Ellen  drew  herself  up.  Shoubine  looked  at 
her  with  an  ironical  smile.  She  was  vexed,  but  did 
not  say  a  word. 

"  You  heard,"  he  repeated,  "  Mr.  Insaroff  will  be 
here  directly." 

"  I  heard,"  she  answered,  "  and  heard  how  you 
called  him.  I  am  surprised  at  your  folly.  Mr.  Insa 
roff  has  not  yet  set  foot  in  our  house,  but  you  must 
needs  make  him  your  butt." 

Shoubine  at  once  became  serious. 

"  You  are  right,  you  are  always  right,  Ellen  Nich- 
olaevna,"  he  said  ;  "  but  it  is  only  my  way.  We  have 
been  walking  with  him  the  whole  day,  and,  I  assure 
you,  he  is  an  excellent  fellow." 


86  On  the  Eve. 

"  I  have  never  asked  you  what  kind  of  man  he  is," 
answered  Ellen,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  Is  Mr.  Insaroff  young  ?  "  asked  Zoe. 

"  Just  turned  one  hundred  and  forty  years,"  an 
swered  Shoubine,  in  a  mocking  tone. 

A  servant  announced  the  arrival  of  the  two  friends. 
They  came  in,  and  Bersieneff  introduced  Insaroff. 
Ellen  asked  them  to  take  a  seat,  and  sat  down  her 
self;  but  Zoe  left  the  room  to  go  up-stairs  and  tell 
Anne  Vasilievna  that  visitors  were  come.  A  conver 
sation  was  commenced,  and,  like  all  first  conversa 
tions,  it  turned  on  trivial  matters.  Shoubine  watch 
ed  the  others  from  his  corner,  but  what  he  saw  was 
not  very  satisfactory.  In  Ellen  he  could  not  but  re 
mark  a  feeling  of  ill-suppressed  displeasure  towards 
himself.  As  he  glanced  at  Bersieneff  and  Insaroff,  he, 
like  a  true  sculptor,  compared  their  faces.  He  found 
that  neither  was  actually  handsome  ;  the  face  of  the 
Bulgarian  was  strongly  marked,  and  admirably  suited 
for  a  statue,  especially  when,  as  then,  it  was  animated 
and  bright ;  whereas  the  face  of  the  Russian  was  fit 
ter  subject  for  the  painter,  it  had  no  well-defined  lines, 
but  great  expression  :  and  he  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  one  or  the  other  was  alike  capable  of  inspiring 
love.  She  was  not  yet  in  love  with  either,  but  it 
would  be  with  Bersieneff:  this  he  quite  settled  in  his 
own  mind.  Anne  Vasilievna  now  came  into  the  draw 
ing-room,  and  the  conversation  at  once  took  a  coun 
try-lodging  tone, — eminently  a  country-lodging,  as 


On  the  Eve.  87 

distinguished  from  a  bona  fide  country,  tone.  The 
subjects  of  conversation  were  excessively  varied,  but 
short  awkward  pauses  brought  it  to  a  stop  every  three 
minutes.  During  one  of  these  pauses  Anne  Vasili- 
evna  gave  Zoe  a  look.  Shoubine  understood  what 
the  look  meant,  and  made  a  wry  mouth  ;  but  Zoe  sat 
down  to  the  piano,  and  played  and  sang  through  all 
her  pieces.  Urban  Ivanovitch  half  opened  the  door; 
but,  seeing  that  visitors  were  there,  played  hopelessly 
with  his  fingers,  and  quickly  withdrew.  Then  tea  was 
served,  and  after  tea  the  whole  company  adjourned 
to  the  garden,  where  they  strolled  and  chatted  till  it 
grew  dark,  when  the  guests  departed. 

Ellen  was  not  so  much  struck  with  Insaroff  as  she 
had  expected,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  he  pro 
duced  on  her  an  impression  different  from  that  which 
she  had  anticipated.  His  straight-forwardness  and 
simple  manners  pleased  her,  and  she  was  not  less  at 
tracted  by  his  general  appearance  :  but  the  whole 
bearing  of  Insaroff,  which  had  a  quiet  heaviness  and 
every- day  commonness  about  it,  was  different  from 
the  fancy  piciure  she  had  drawn  of  him  after  her 
conversation  with  Bersieneff.  She  had  unconsciously 
expected  to  find  in  him  something  of  the  "  gloomy  " 
type.  But,  she  thought  to  herself,  it  is  true  that  he 
spoke  very  little  to-day,  and  I  am  to  blame  for  not 
having  put  him  more  at  his  ease  ;  perhaps,  another 
time — but  his  eyes  are  expressive,  they  are  honest 
eyes.X,  Much  to  her  dissatisfaction,  she  felt  that  she 


88  On  the  Eve. 

could  pay  him  no  homage  ;  she  could  be  friendly  with 
him,  and  that  was  all ;  for  he  was  not  what  she  had 
fancied  people  like  Insaroff  must  be :  he  was  no 
"  hero."  And  this  word  reminded  her  of  what  Shou- 
bine  had  said,  and  she  at  once  grew  red  and  angry. 

"How  do  you  like  your  new  acquaintances?" 
Bersieneff  asked  Insaroff  on  their  road  homewards. 

"  They  pleased  me  very  much,"  Insaroff  replied, 
"  particularly  the  daughter.  She  must  be  an  excel 
lent  creature  ; — rather  enthusiastic,  but  it  is  an  honest 
enthusiasm." 

"  Yo'.i  must  go  and  see  them  oftener,"  said  Ber 
sieneff. 

"  Certainly  we  must,"  observed  Insaroff:  and  noth 
ing  more  was  said  during  their  walk  home.  He  at 
once  shut  himself  up  in  his  room,  but  through  the 
window  could  be  seen  the  light  of  a  candle  burning 
late  into  the  night. 

Bersieneff  had  not  read  a  page  of  Raumer  when  a 
handful  of  sand  thrown  against  his  window  suddenly 
aroused  him  from  his  studies.  He  involuntarily  gave 
a  start,  opened  the  window,  and  beheld  Shoubine 
pale  as  a  sheet. 

"  Ah  !  you  restless  spirit !  you  bird  of  the  night !  " 
began  Bersieneff. 

"  Hush  !  "  interrupted  Shoubine  ;  "  I  have  come 
to  you  stealthily,  like  Max  to  Agatha.  I  have  two 
words  to  say  to  you  in  secret." 

"  All  right ;  come  into  the  room." 


On  the  Eve.  89 

"  No,  that  is  not  necessary,"  answered  Shoubine, 
leaning  on  the  window-sill :  "  this  way  is  more  lively, 
quite  like  Spain.  And  first  I  congratulate  you  ;  your 
shares  have  gone  up.  Your  much  bepraised  extraor 
dinary  man  has  fallen  through  ;  that  I  can  guarantee. 
And  to  show  you  how  impartial  I  am  in  the  matter, 
here  is  a  precise  catalogue  of  the  moral  and  intellect 
ual  qualities  of  Mr.  Insaroff:  Talents,  none  at  all; 
poetry,  deuced  little  ;  capacity  for  hard  work,  enorm 
ous  ;  memory,  almost  as  enormous;  mind,  neither 
discursive  nor  deep,  but  healthy  and  quick ;  speech, 
dry,  energetic,  and  even  eloquent  when  he  gets  upon 
his — between  ourselves  we  may  say — stupid  Bulgaria. 
What  do  you  say  ?  am  I  not  right  ?  But  further,  you 
will  never  be  on  such  a  footing  with  him  as  to  say  t/iou, 
and  no  one  ever  was  :  I,  of  course,  as  artist,  can  be 
no  favorite  of  his,  and  I  am  proud  that  I  cannot. 
Cold-hearted,  cold-hearted,  and  capable  of  grinding 
us  all  to  powder!  He  is  attached  to  his  country;  not 
like  our  empty-heads  who  merely  flatter  the  common 
people;  but  he  tries  to  unite  the  whole  nation  in  one 
common  work.  Thus  his  task  is  both  more  easy  and 
more  intelligible ;  to  drive  out  the  Turks,  that  is  all, 
that  is  the  work  to  which  he  dedicates  himself.  But, 
thank  God,  all  these  fine  qualities  do  not  take  with 
women.  There  is  nothing  attractive,  no  charm  about 
him  ;  he  is  not  like  either  of  us." 

"  Why  do  you  drag  me  in  ?  "  muttered  Bersieneff. 
"  And  as  to  the  rest,  you  are  all  wrong  :  you  are  not  in 


9O  On  the  Eve. 

the  least  disliked  by  him,  and  with  his  fellow-country 
men  he  is  on  the  most  friendly  and  familiar  footing,  I 
know." 

"  That  is  another  thing,  in  their  eyes  he  is  a  hero, 
though  I  confess  my  ideal  hero  is  quite  a  different  crea 
ture  :  a  true  hero  is  never  eloquent — he  bellows  like 
an  ox,  and  rushes  at  you  with  his  horns,  makes  the  very 
walls  tremble  and  totter.  And  then  he  should  not 
know  why  he  is  so  furious,  but  simply  be  furious. 
However,  it  may  be  that  our  age  requires  heroes  of  a 
different  stamp." 

"Why  are  you  so  interested  in  Insaroff?"  ask 
ed  Bersieneff.  "  Have  you  really  come  all  this  way 
and  at  this  hour  merely  to  describe  his  character  to 
me?" 

"  I  came  here,"  began  Shoubirie,  "  because  it  was 
intolerable  to  remain  alone  at  home." 

"  Absurd  !  you  surely  do  not  mean  to  have  another 
crying  fit." 

"  You  may  laugh  !  I  came  here  because  I  am  burst 
ing  with  envy,  vexation,  jealousy 

"  Jealous — of  whom  ? " 

"  You,  him,  her,  everybody.  I  am  maddened  with 
the  mere  thought  that  I  would  have  understood  her 
earlier,  if  I  had  but  acted  in  a  different  spirit.  But 
what  profits  it  now  to  talk  ?  It  has  all  come  to  this, 
that  I  am  only  fit  to  play  the  fool,  to  joke  and  laugh, 
as  she  herself  has  told  me :  far  better  let  me  go  and 
hang  myself." 


On  the  ETC.  gt 

"  You  had  better  not  try,  because  you  will  not  suc 
ceed,"  observed  Bersieneff. 

"  Of  course  not  on  such  a  night  as  this ;  I  am  only 
waiting  till  the  autumn.  Though  people  do  die  even 
on  nights  like  this,  but  then  it  is  from  excess  of  happi 
ness.  Ah,  happiness  !  There  is  not  a  shadow  that  falls 
across  the  road  from  the  trees,  but  it  seems  to  whisper, 
'  I  know  where  happiness  is  to  be  found.  Shall  I  tell 
thee  ? '  I  would  ask  you  to  come  and  have  a  walk,  but 
you  are  just  now  so  stupidly  prosaic.  Better  go  to 
bed,  and  in  your  dreams  have  glorious  visions  of 
mathematical  figures  !  As  for  me,  my  heart  is  breaking. 
You  think  all  is  well  with  a  man  merely  because  he 
jokes  ;  you  fancy  a  man  can't  surfer  merely  because  he 
talks  absurdly.  Well,  God  be  with  you  !  " 

Shoubine  turned  himself  away  from  the  window. 
For  a  moment  Bersieneff  was  tempted  to  cry  "  An 
nette  !  "  after  him,  but  there  was  a  something  in  Shou- 
bine's  look  that  restrained  him.  A  few  minutes  later 
and  a  strange  melancholy  came  over  Bersieneff;  he 
rose  up  and  opened  the  window  ;  all  outside  was  still, 
save  that  now  and  then  could  be  heard  from  the  dis 
tance  the  drawling  voice  of  some  peasant,  singing  as 
he  trudged  along  beside  his  cart. 


92  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DISAPPEARANCE. 

DURING  the  first  two  weeks  after  InsarofTs  arrival 
in  the  village  of  K©ontsoff,  he  did  not  pay  more 
than  three  or  four  visits  to  the  Stachoffs,  though  Ber- 
sieneff  was  wont  to  call  upon  them  at  least  every  other 
day.  Ellen  was  always  glad  to  see  him  and  they  in 
variably  chatted  together  in  a  lively  and  animated 
manner  ;  but  he  not  seldom  returned  home  from  these 
interviews  in  a  low  and  dejected  mood.  Shoubine  was 
now  rarely  to  be  seen  ;  a  feverish  fit  of  industry  had 
come  over  him,  and  he  would  shut  himself  up  in  his 
room,  leaving  it  only  for  a  minute  or  so,  and  then  all 
besmeared  with  plaster  ;  or  else  go  for  a  few  days  to 
Moscow,  where  he  had  a  studio,  and  pass  his  time  in 
the  company  of  pretty  models  and  Italian  sculptors, 
his  friends  and  teachers.  Not  once  had  Ellen  spoken 
with  Insaroff  as  she  wished  to  speak  :  in  his  absence 
she  could  prepare  questions  about  much  she  longed  to" 
ask  him  ;  but  when  he  came,  the  consciousness  of  their 
having  been  prepared  prevented  her  putting  them. 
There  was  a  quietness  about  Insaroff  which  intimi 
dated  her  j  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  no  right  to 


On  the  Eve.  93 

try  and  make  him  speak,  and  resolved  to  wait ;  and 
yet  she  felt  that,  however  trivial  might  be  the  words 
exchanged  between  them,  each  time  she  saw  him  he 
attracted  her  more  and  more  :  but  they  had  not  hap 
pened  once  to  be  left  alone, — and  to  become  intimate 
with  a  man  it  is  necessary,  if  but  once,  to  speak  with 
him  when  none  are  by  to  shame  his  confidence.  She 
often  spoke  of  him  to  Bersieneff.  The  latter  per 
ceived  that  Insaroff  had  produced  a  favorable  impres 
sion  on  Ellen,  and  was  glad  that,  contrary  to  Shou- 
bine's  assertion,  his  friend  had  not  "  fallen  through ;  " 
he  related  to  her,  down  to  the  most  trivial  details,  all 
he  knew  of  his  history  ; — very  often  when  we  wish  to 
please  another  we  talk  at  length  and  with  enthusiasm 
of  some  one  of  our  friends,  never  suspecting  that  all 
the  while  we  are  but  praising  ourselves ; — and  an  un 
easy  feeling  of  pain  filled  his  breast  when  he  remarked 
how  the  pale  cheeks  of  Ellen  were  suffused  with  a  flush, 
and  how  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  eager  interest,  as  she 
listened  to  his  story. 

One  morning  Bersieneff  came  Lo  the  Stachoffs  at 
a  much  earlier  hour  than  usual,  and  soon  after  his  ar 
rival  Ellen  made  her  appearance  in  the  drawing-room. 

"  Only  fancy,"  he  began  with  a  forced  smile,  "  our 
friend  Insaroff  has  disappeared." 

"  How  disappeared  ?  "  asked  Ellen. 

"  Disappeared  completely  :  the  day  before  yester 
day  he  left  the  house  in  the  evening,  and  since  then 
has  not  been  seen." 


94  On  the  Eve. 

"  Did  he  not  tell  you  where  he  was  going? " 

"  Not  a  word." 

Ellen  sank  down  into  a  chair. 

"  He  has  probably  only  gone  to  Moscow,"  she  mut 
tered  trying  to  look  indifferent,  and  at  the  same  time 
surprised  at  herself  that  she  should  be  thus  trying  to 
assume  a  tone  of  indifference. 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  observed  Bersieneff.  "  He 
did  not  go  alone." 

"  With  whom,  then  ?  " 

"  Two  men  called  upon  him  the  day  before  yester 
day,  just  before  dinner ;  I  do  not  know  who  they  were, 
but  they  must  have  been  compatriots  of  his." 

"  Bulgarians  ?  What  makes  you  think  so  ? " 

"  Because,  so  far  as  I  could  catch  anything  of  their 
conversation, they  spoke  with  him  in  a  dialect  unknown 
to  me,  but  it  certainly  was  Slavonic.  You  know  your 
self,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  that  ordinarily  there  is  nothing 
concealed  about  InsarorT;  then  why  such  a  mystery 
about  this  visit  of  theirs  ?  You  see,  they  came  to  him, 
and  began  vociferating  and  quarrelling,  like  a  set  of 
angry  savages, — he  too  crying  out  as  loud  as  either  of 
the  two." 

"He  too?" 

"  Yes,  he  too.  He  bawled  at  them,  and  they 
seemed  to  be  bitterly  reproaching  one  another.  And 
if  you  only  could  have  seen  these  gentlemen !  with 
their  swarthy  visages,  long  hair,  beak  noses,  shabby 
clothes,  covered  with  dust  and  grease  ;  seemingly 


On  the  Eve.  95 

tradesmen,  and  yet  they  were  no  more  tradesmen  than 
gentlemen — God  knows  who  they  were  !  " 

"  And  he  went  away  with  them  ?  " 

"  Just  so ;  gave  them  something  to  eat,  and  then 
went  off  with  them.  The  landlady  told  me  that  those 
two  alone  ate  up  a  large  potful  of  porridge.  She  de 
clares  it  was  a  race  between  them  which  could  gulp 
it  down  the  fastest,  as  they  gobbled  it  up  like  a  couple 
of  wolves." 

"  You  see,"  she  said  faintly  smiling,  "  after  all,  this 
grand  mystery  is  a  very  common  and  prosaic  event." 

"  God  grant  it  be  so  !  Though  you  are  wrong  to 
use  the  word  prosaic.  In  Insaroff  there  is  nothing 
prosaic,  notwithstanding  that  Shoubine  declares " 

"  Shoubine  !  "  interrupted  Ellen,  with  a  shrug  of 
her  shoulders  ;  "  but  still  you  must  confess  that  these 
two  men  swallowing  and  choking  over  their  por 
ridge " 

"  But  Themistocles  ate  on  the  eve  of  Salamis," 
laughingly  interrupted  Bersieneff. 

"True,  but  on  the  next  day  the  battle  did  take 
place.  At  any  rate,  you  will  let  me  know  when  he  re 
turns,"  Ellen  said,  and  then  tried  to  change  the  sub 
ject;  but  their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  Zoe, 
who  came  into  the  room  on  tiptoe,  thereby  giving 
them  to  understand  that  Anne  Vasilievna  had  not  yet 
awakened  from  her  nap.  A  minute  later,  Bersieneff 
took  his  departure. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  she  received  the 


96  On  the  Eve. 

following  note  from  him  :  "  He  has  come  back,  hot 
and  dusty  up  to  the  brows  ;  but  why  he  left,  or  where 
he  went  to,  I  do  not  know — probably  you  do." 

"Probably  I  do/'  Ellen  repeated  to  herself;  "  as 
if  he  would  take  me  into  his  confidence  !  " 


On  the  Eve.  97 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
INSAROFF'S  INTERVIEW  WITH  ELLEN. 

ON  the  next  day,  in  the  afternoon,  about  two 
o'clock,  Ellen  was  standing  in  the  garden  before 
a  small  kennel,  feeding  her  two  pet  dogs.  The  gar 
dener  had  found  them  one  evening  under  a  hedge, 
and  had  brought  them  to  the  young  lady,  at  the  ad 
vice  of  the  laundress,  who  assured  him  that  her  mis 
tress  would  be  only  glad  to  keep  them.  Nor  was  he 
wrong  in  his  reckoning,  but  got  a  shilling  for  his  hu 
manity.  Ellen  was  looking  into  the  kennel  to  con 
vince  herself  that  her  young  pets  were  alive  and  well, 
and  that  their  straw  was  fresh  and  dry,  when  she 
started  back  with  a  cry  of  surprise  on  perceiving  In- 
saroff,  who  was  coming  towards  her  along  the  path 
that  led  from  the  house. 

"  Good  morning/'  he  said,  as  he  came  up  to  her 
and  took  off  his  cap.  She  remarked  that  during  the 
last  three  days  he  had  become  quite  sunburnt.  "  I 
asked  Andrew  Petrovitch  to  accompany  me,  but  he 
was  busy;  so  I  came  alone.  But  I  found  no  one  in 
the  house — all  asleep  or  out  walking — so  I  came  to 
look  for  you  here." 
7 


98  On  the  Eve. 

"  You  seem  to  be  excusing  yourself,"  answered 
Ellen;  "there  is  no  occasion  for  that.  We  are  al 
ways  very  glad  to  *see  you.  Let  us  sit  down  on  that 
bench  there,  in  the  shade." 

She  sat  down,  and  Insaroff  took  a  seat  by  her 
side. 

"  You  have  not  been  at  home  these  few  days,  I 
think  ?  "  she  began. 

"  No,  I  have  been  away,"  he  replied  :  "  Andrew 
Petrovitch  told  you  ?  " 

There  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  a  slight  pout 
ing  outwards  of  the  lip,  whenever  he  smiled,  which 
gave  a  pleasing  expression  to  his  countenance. 

"  Andrew  Petrovitch  most  probably  told  you  also 
that  I  went  away  with  some — not  the  most  polished 
of  men,"  he  continued,  still  smiling. 

Ellen  was  slightly  confused,  but  instinctively  felt 
that  with  Insaroff  it  was  better  to  speak  the  truth. 

"  Just  so,"  she  said  unhesitatingly. 

"  And  what  did  you  think  of  me  ?  "  he  asked  ab 
ruptly. 

"  I  thought,"  she  replied  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  thought 
that  you  know  best  what  you  should  do,  and  that  you 
would  never  do  anything  that  was  wrong." 

"  Thanks  for  your  good  opinion.  You  see,  Ellen 
Nicholaevna,"  he  went  on  as  he  drew  nearer  to  her  in 
a  friendly  manner,  u  we  are  but  few  here,  and  amongst 
those  few  still  fewer  that  are  civilized ;  but  we  are  all 
devoted  to  a  common  cause.  Unhappily  quarrels 


On  the  Eve. 

will  arise,  and  I  am  known 
that  is  why  I  was  called  away  ^j 
Thank  God,  I  was  enabled  to 

"  Was  it  far  from  here  ? " 

"  About  sixty  versts*  to  Trinity  borough.  Some 
of  our  people  are  settled  there.  At  any  rate,  I  was 
not  disturbed  for  nothing:  the  matter  is  all  arranged." 

"  But  it  was  difficult  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very.  One  of  them  was  so  obstinate.  He 
refused  for  a  long  time  to  pay." 

"  How  ?   Was  the  quarrel  about  money  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  not  a  small  sum  either.  Why,  what 
did  you  think  it  was  about  ? " 

"  And  for  such  a  trifle  you  made  a  journey  of  ^ixty 
versts,  and  lost  three  clays  ? " 

(j'  Nothing  is  a  trifle,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  which  con 
cerns  our  fellow-countrymen.  In  such  a  case  to  re 
fuse  one's  service  were  a  sin)  Why,  you,  I  see,  do 
not  refuse  your  succor  even  to  a  dog,  and  I  praise 
you  for  it.  And  as  to  the  loss  of  time,  that  is  no 
great  harm  ;  I  am  well  rewarded  for  it.  (Qur  time  does 
not  belong  to  us.') 

"  To  whom,  then  ?  " 

"  To  all  who  have  need  of  it.  I  have  told  you  all 
this,  little  as  it  can  interest  you,  because  I  prize  your 
good  opinior.  and  I  fancy  that  my  departure  surprised 
you." 

*  A  verst  is  equal  to  three-fourths  of  an  English  mile. 


ioo  On  the  Eve. 

* 

"  You  value  my  good  opinion,"  repeated  Ellen,  in 
a  low  voice  :  "  and  why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  because  you  are  a  real  lady,  and  no  mis 
take — that  is  why." 

A  short  silence  ensued. 

"  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch,"  said  Ellen,  "  do  you 
know  that  it  is  for  the  first  time  you  are  so  open  with 
me?" 

"  How  so  ?  I  thought  I  had  always  spoken  to  you 
without  reserve,  exactly  what  I  thought." 

"  No,  it  is  for  the  first  time,  and  I  thank  you  for 
your  frankness  :  I  too  wish  to  be  unreserved  with  you. 
May  I  ?  "  • 

"  You  may,"  replied  InsarofT,  laughing. 

"  I  warn  you  beforehand,  I  am  very  inquisitive." 

"  Never  mind  ;  speak  on." 

"  Andrew  Petrovitch  has  told  me  much  of  your 
past  history,  of  your  youth.  So  it  is  that  I  know  of 
one  circumstance,  one  terrible  circumstance.  I  know 
that  after  it  happened  you  went  home  to  your  own 
country.  Do  not  answer  me,  I  pray  you,  if  my  ques 
tion  is  too  importunate  ;  but  one  thought  tortures  me. 
Tell  me,  did  you  ever  meet  with  that  man " 

Ellen  was  unable  to  continue.  She  was  covered 
with  .confusion  and  shame  at  her  own  boldness.  In- 
saroff  looked  earnestly  at  her ;  but  there  was  a  dim 
ness  in  his  eyes,  and  a  nervous  twitching  of  the 
mouth,  that  showed  how  strong  was  the  emotion  he 
was  trying  to  subdue. 


On  the  Eve.  101 


"  Ellen  Nicholaevna,"  he  at  length  replied,  and 
his  voice  was  so  low  that  its  very  quietness  alarmed 
her,  "  I  understand  of  what  man  you  spoke  just  now 
I  never  came  across  him,  thank  God,  thank  God !  1 
never  tried  to  find  him,  because  I  felt  I  had  no  right  to 
slay  him.  I  could  without  the  least  reproach  have 
killed  him  ;  but  there  was  no  room  for  private  re 
venge  when  the  question  was  hoiv  t9  r.vengc — or  no, 
that  is  not  the  word — how  to  'freo  tin  entire  p'<e6ple. 
The  one  could  only  hinder  trie  pfch^r.  biri;  ki  us  ^ocd  > 
time  it  will  come — it  will  com'e,"  he  repeated,  nodding 
his  head. 

Ellen  looked  at  him  askance.  "You  love  your 
country  dearly  ?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

"  As  yet  I  cannot  say,"  he  answered.  "  Only  when 
a  man  has  died  for  his  country  can  you  truly  say  he 
loved  it." 

"  So,  had  you  not  the  hope  one  day  to  return  to 
Bulgaria,"  resumed  Ellen,  "  you  would  find  Russia  in 
supportable  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  InsarofT,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground,  "  it  were  as  well  not  to  answer  that 
question." 

"  Tell  me,"  Ellen  began  again,  "  is  it  difficult  to 
learn  Bulgarian  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  It  is  a  shame  for  a  Russian 
not  to  know  Bulgarian.  A  Russian  ought  to  know  all 
the  Sclavonic  dialects.  If  you  like,  I  will  bring  you 
some  Bulgarian  books.  You  will  see  how  easy  the 


102  On  the  Eve. 

language  is.  And  then,  what  songs  we  have !  equal 
to  the  Serbian.  Just  listen,  I  will  translate  one  of 
them  to  you.  It  refers  to — I  suppose  you  know  some 
thing  of  our  history  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit ;  I  know  nothing  of  it,"  answered  Ellen. 

"  Well,  I  will  bring  you  a  little  book  from  which 
you  can  learn  the  outlines  of  our  history.  But  listen 
to  ^the,  song^r— or,  perhaps,  it  will  be  better  to  give  you 
a  written  translation.  I  am  sure  you  will  love  us  : 
.ybirlDv/i  all  th-u  are  sufferers.  If  you  only  knew  what 
a  fertile  glorious  country  ours  is  !  And  all  this  while 
those  filthy  Turks  trample  it  under  foot,  harass  us, 
rob  us  of  our  every  possession,  our  churches,  our  laws, 
our  lands,  our  rights,  drive  us  forth  like  beasts,  shoot 
us  like  dogs,  and " 

"  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch,"  cried  Ellen. 

He  stopped  short  "  Pardon  me.  I  cannot  speak 
of  it  coldly.  You  yourself  but  just  now  asked  me 
whether  I  loved  my  country.  What  else  on  earth  is 
there  worth  loving?  What  else  is  there  that  never 
changes,  of  which  you  never  doubt,  in  which,  next  to 
God,  you  never  cease  to  believe  ?  And  when  she,  your 
own  country,  has  need  of  you — note  well,  the  veriest 
peasant,  the  lowest  beggar  in  Bulgaria,  not  one  whit 
less  than  I  myself,  awaits  one  and  the  same  thing; 
we  have  all  but  one  and  the  same  end  in  view — and 
think  what  strength,  what  assurance,  this  unity  of  aim 
must  give  us  !  "  . 

Insaroff  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  began 


On  the  Eve.  103 

again  to  speak  of  Bulgaria.  Ellen  listened  with  a 
deep  and  lively  but  saddened  interest.  When  he  had 
finished,  she  once  more  asked  him,  "  And  so  for  noth 
ing  in  the  world  would  you  remain  in  Russia  ?" 

When  he  left  her,  she  looked  after  him  long  and 
thoughtfully.  That  conversation  had  made  him  in 
her  eyes  another  man  from  what  he  was  but  two  short 
hours  before. 

From  that  day  his  visits  to  the  Stachoffs  grew  more 
and  more  frequent,  but  Bersieneff  came  much  sel- 
domer  than  formerly.  Between  the  two  friends  there 
rose  up  a  strange  and  undefined  feeling  of  aversion, 
which  both  felt  acutely,  but  which  neither  cared  to 
explain.  And  thus  passed  a  whole  month. 


104  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    PICNIC. 

ANNE  VASILIEVNA,  as  the  reader  already 
knows,  generally  liked  to  shut  herself  up  at 
home  ;  but  now  and  then,  when  least  expected,  she 
would  be  seized  with  an  overwhelming  desire  to  do 
something  out  of  the  way,  arrange  some  extraordinary 
partie  de  plaisir ;  and  the  more  difficult  it  was  to  get  up 
this  same  partie  de  plaisir,  the  more  trouble  involved 
in  its  preparation,  and  the  more  perplexity  and  excite 
ment  it  caused  her,  the  better  she  was  pleased.  Did 
the  freak  come  upon  her  in  the  winter,  she  invariably 
engaged  two  or  three  adjoining  boxes,  sent  out  half  a 
dozen  invitations,  and  went  in  a  party  to  the  theatre, 
or,  better  still,  to  a  masquerade  :  if  it  were  summer 
time,  she  contented  herself  with  a  picnic.  Of  course, 
on  the  morrow  she  was  laid  up,  with  a  terrible  head 
ache,  and  kept  her  bed  for  a  week  ;  but  two  months 
would  not  pass  before  she  was  again  busily  arranging 
a  fresh  partie.  It  was  so  now.  Some  one  had  spoken 
to  her  of  the  beautiful  view  at  Czaritchina,  and  at  once 
Anne  Vasilievna  fixed  the  day  for  a  picnic  to  that 
place.  The  whole  house  was  thrown  into  a  state  of 


On  the  Eve.  105 

worry  and  confusion  ;  a  courier  was  despatched  to 
Moscow  to  beg  Nicholas  Artemvitch  to  return  imme 
diately  ;  the  steward  was  hurried  off  to  purchase  the 
wine,  patties,  and  other  necessary  comestibles  ;  Shou- 
bine  was  requested  to  engage  the  stage-coach,  the  Sta- 
choffs'  carriage  being  too  small,  and  to  see  that  a  relay 
of  horses  was  kept  in  readiness ;  Bersieneff  and  In- 
sarorT  received  two  separate  invitations  written  in 
French  and  in  Russian  by  the  fair  Zoe  ;  whilst  Anne 
Vasilievna  herself  undertook  to  prepare  the  ladies' 
dresses.  In  the  meanwhile  the  partie  de  plaisir  very 
nearly  came  to  grief:  Nicholas  Artemvitch  arrived 
from  Moscow  in  a  sadly  fretful  and  cross  humor — 
something  had  evidently  put  him  out  at  Augustina's — 
and  when  told  of  the  plan,  positively  refused  to  go  ; 
that  to  be  jolted  first  from  KoontsorTto  Moscow,  then 
from  Moscow  to  Czaritchina,  and  afterward  from  Czar- 
itchina  to  Moscow,  and  again  from  Moscow  to  Koon- 
tsoff,  was  absurd  ;  and  further  declared  that  he  would 
only  go  on  condition  that  they  first  proved  to  him  that 
it  would  be  more  lively  to  be  thus  shaken  to  pieces 
than  to  stay  quietly  at  home.  On  this  point  no  one 
could  satisfy  him,  and  in  despair  of  securing  a  trusty 
cavalier,  Anne  Vasilievna  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
up  the  expedition,  when  she  suddenly  thought  of  Ur 
ban  Ivanovitch  ;  but  though  she  invited  him  to  join  the 
party,  she  confessed  to  herself  that  she  was  but  acting 
like  the  drowning  man  who  clutched  at  a  straw.  So 
a  servant  was  sent  to  awake  him  ;  after  some  time  he 


io6  On  the  Eve. 

made  his  appearance,  heard  all  that  Anne  Vasihevna 
had  to  say,  played  nervously  with  his  fingers,  and 
finally,  to  the  astonishment  of  everybody,  consented 
to  go.  Anne  Vasilievna  kissed  him  rapturously  on 
the  cheek,  and  called  him  "  a  dear ;  "  Nicholas  Ar- 
temvitch  smiled  sarcastically,  and  muttered  "quell 
bourde  ! " — he  was  very  fond  of  occasionally  using 
French  slang — and  on  the  following  morning,  at  seven 
o'clock,  the  carriage  and  stage-coach,  laden  well  with 
hampers  and  baskets,  drew  up  at  the  gates  of  the  Sta- 
choffs'  house.  The  carriage  was  occupied  by  the 
ladies,  the  housemaid,  and  Bersieneff,  Insaroff  having 
perched  himself  on  the  box.  Urban  Ivanovitch,  the 
steward,  and  Shoubine  rode  in  the  coach.  Urban 
Ivanovitch  had  himself,  by  a  mysterious  pantomime  of 
his  fingers,  invited  Shoubine  to  sit  next  to  him,  think 
ing  that  he  would  serve  to  amuse  him  on  the  road, — 
for  the  fat  civilian  and  the  young  sculptor  were  fast 
friends, — but  on  that  occasion  Shoubine  left  his  fat 
friend  in  peace,  and  was  strangely  silent  and  dis 
tracted. 

The  sun  had  already  risen  high  in  a  perfectly 
cloudless  sky  when  the  carriages  rattled  up  to  the  ruins 
of  the  castle  of  Czaritchina,  which  looked  gloomy 
and  threatening  even  in  the  clear  noonday.  The 
whole  company  dismounted,  and  began  strolling  in 
the  gardens.  Ellen  and  Zoe  went  in  front  with  Insa 
roff,  followed  by  Anne  Vasilievna,  leaning  on  Urban's 
arm,  and  evidently  satisfied  with  the  success  of  her 


On  the  Eve.  107 

picnic.  He  puffed  and  fumed  with  the  unusual  exer 
tion  of  walking  ;  his  new  straw  hat  chafed  his  forehead, 
and  his  feet  were  terribly  pinched  in  his  new  tight 
boots ;  but  for  all  that  he  was  in  an  excellent  humor. 
Shoubine  and  Bersieneff  brought  up  the  procession. 
"  My  dear  fellow,  we  are  the  reserve,  mere  veterans," 
Shoubine  whispered  to  him  :  "  the  Bulgarian  is  there 
now ; "  and  he  pointed  to  Ellen,  who  was  at  the  mo 
ment  talking  with  Insaroff. 

The  weather  was  lovely.  Surrounded  by  gay  flow 
ers,  the  noise  of  buzzing  insects,  the  song  of  birds, 
and  the  soft  rippling  of  a  stream  in  the  distance,  the 
soul  was  filled  with  a  sense  of  joyous  freedom.  "  How 
beautiful !  how  beautiful !  "  was  Anne  Vasilievna's 
constant  cry,  and  Urban  Ivanovitch  graciously  bent 
his  head  in  confirmation  of  her  enthusiastic  exclama 
tions  ;  once  even  he  murmured  the  words,  "  Of  course 
it  is  beautiful."  Ellen  now  and  then  exchanged  a 
word  with  Insaroff:  Zoe,  whilst  shading  her  face  with 
the  flap  of  her  large,  round  straw  hat,  took  care  to 
show  from  beneath  her  rose-colored  barege  dre^s  a 
pair  of  pretty  little  feet,  and  was  constantly  turning 
round  to  give  coquettish  glances  at  those  who  were 
walking  behind  her. 

"  Ah !  "  Shoubine  suddenly  exclaimed  in  a  low 
voice,  "  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  Zoe  looks  round  so 
often.  I  shall  go  and  join  her.  Just  now  Ellen  Nicho- 
laevna  despises  me,  and  esteems  you,  my  dear  An 
drew,  most  highly ;  but  I  don't  see  much  difference 


io8  On  the  Eve. 

between  her  contempt  and  her  esteem.  I  shall  go — • 
it  is  awfully  dull.  As  for  you,  my  good  friend,  I  ad 
vise  you  to  do  a  little  botany  ;  in  your  present  condi 
tion  of  mind  it  is  the  best  remedy  I  can  propose  :  it 
is  at  once  consoling  and  highly  profitable.  So,  good 
bye." 

Shoubine  ran  up  to  Zoe,  and  putting  a  biscuit  into 
her  hand,  and  saying,  "  Ihre  hand^  Madame"  gave 
her  his  arm,  and  walked  on  by  her  side.  Ellen  too 
stopped  for  a  minute,  and  took  hold  of  Bersieneff 's 
arm,  but  continued  talking  with  Insaroff.  She  was 
asking  him  what  the  Bulgarian  was  for  oak  and  some 
other  words.  "  Nothing  but  Bulgaria  !  "  thought  poor 
Andrew  to  himself. 

Suddenly  a  cry  was  heard  in  front ;  all  looked  up, 
and  Shoubine's  cigar  case  was  seen  flying  in  the  air, 
having  been  hit  out  of  his  hand  by  the  lively  Zoe. 
"  Just  wait  a  moment,  I'll  pay  you  out,"  he  exclaimed, 
leaping  into  the  bush  where  it  had  fallen  :  but  scarce 
ly  had  he  returned  with  it  in  his  hand  before  it  was 
seen  flying  a  second  t  m2  across  the  road.  This  was 
repeated  some  four  or  five  times ;  he  half-laughing, 
half  threatening ;  Zoe  grimacing  and  giggling  as,  with 
the  agility  of  a  cat,  she  wriggled  from  his  grasp.  At 
last  he  succeeded  in  seizing  hold  of  her  fingers,  and 
giving  them  such  a  squeeze  that  she  shrieked  with 
pain,  and  for  a  long  time  she  continued  blowing  on 
her  hand,  evidently  angry  at  his  violence.  But  he 


On  the  Eve.  109 

whispered  something  in  her  ear,  and  peace  was  ap 
parently  restored. 

"  Children  !  What  it  is  to  be  young !  "  gayly  ob 
served  Anne  Vasilievna  to  Urban  Ivanovitch,  who  at 
once  began  playing  with  his  fingers. 

"  What  a  girl  that  Zoe  is !  "  said  Bersieneff  to 
Ellen. 

"  And  Shoubine  ?  "  was  her  answer. 

In  the  meantime  the  whole  party  entered  the  fa 
mous  arbor,  known  as  Belle  Vue,  and  stayed  there  a 
long  time  enjoying  the  view  of  the  Czaritchina  lakes. 
For  miles  lake  succeeds  lake,  and  beyond  the  last  of 
the  series  stretches  a  thick,  dense  forest.  The  swarm 
of  gnats  that  literally  covered  the  hill  rising  up  from 
the  side  of  the  principal  lake  was  so  great  that  they 
gave  to  its  waters  a  strange  greenish,  emerald  tint. 
Everywhere,  even  close  to  the  bank,  the  stream  was 
swollen  and  covered  with  foam  ;  its  calmest  ripples 
flowed  unequally  and  restlessly.  As  in  some  massive 
but  clear  mirror  the  sky  was  reflected  in  the  spacious 
lake,  and  the  rustling  trees  bent  over  and  peered 
downward  in  its  transparent  depths.  All  gazed  on 
the  scene  long  and  silently  ;  even  Shoubine  was  quiet, 
and  even  Zoe  was  thoughtful.  At  last  they  all  ex 
pressed  a  wish  to  go  on  the  water.  Shoubine,  Insa- 
roff,  and  Bersieneff  immediately  raced  off  to  see  who 
could  first  find  a  boat.  Before  long  they  found  a  large 
gorgeously  painted  one,  hired  a  couple  of  oarsmen, 
and  summoned  the  ladies,  who  immediately  joined 


no  On  the  Eve. 

them,  and  were  followed  by  Urban  Ivanovitch  puffing 
and  blowing  in  his  eagerness  to  keep  up  with  them. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  laughter  as  he  got  into  the 
boat  and  seated  himself. 

u  Look  out,  sir,  don't  upset  us,"  cried  one  of  the 
boatmen,  a  young  snub-nosed  lad  dressed  in  a  striped 
shirt. 

"  Be  quiet,  you  rogue,  be  quiet,"  answered  Urban 
good-humoredly. 

The  young  people  would  have  liked  to  row,  but 
Insaroff  was  the  only  one  who  knew  how  to  handle  an 
oar.  Shoubine  proposed  to  sing  in  chorus  some 
Russian  song,  and  himself  struck  up  with,  "  She  gazed 
down  the  river."  Bersieneff,  Zoe,  and  even  Anne  Vas- 
ilievna  joined  in — Insaroff  could  not  sing — but  they 
did  not  keep  together  in  tune,  and  at  the  third  verse 
they  were  obliged  to  break  off.  The  boatmen  winked 
at  one  another,  and  silently  grinned. 

"  Well,"  cried  Shoubine,  turning  to  them,  "  do  you 
think  gentlefolks  can't  sing  if  they  like  ?  " 

The  lad  in  the  striped  shirt  only  shook  his  head. 

"  Well  Impudence,"  continued  Shoubine,  "  we'll 
just  show  you  what  we  can  do.  Zoe,  sing  us  Inder- 
meyer's  Le  lac^  and  you,  stop  rowing,  will  you  ? " 

The  oars  were  thrown  up  in  the  air  like  feathers, 
from  which  drops  of  water  fell  sharply  on  the  surface 
of  the  lake,  the  boat  continued  to  move  for  awhile,  al 
most  veered  round,  and  then  stood  still  like  a  swan. 
Zoe  at  first  refused.  "  Allans?  said  Anne  Vasilievna, 


On  the  Eve.  in 

coaxingly ;  and  then  Zoe,  taking  off  her  straw  hat, 
began  to  sing,  "  O  lac,  ranneeapeine  a  fini  sa  carriere" 
Her  voice,  weak  but  pure  in  tone,  glanced  as  it  were 
along  the  surface  of  the  waters,  and  in  the  distant 
forest  every  word  was  echoed  as  though  there,  too, 
was  singing  some  mysterious  voice  of  heaven,  not  of 
earth.  Zoe  had  scarcely  finished  when  an  uproarious 
"  brava  !  "  burst  forth  from  behind  one  of  the  copses 
on  the  bank,  and  out  of  it  ran  a  party  of  Germans, 
whose  red  faces  showed  plainly  enough  that  they 
were  "  making  a  day  of  it  "  at  Czaritchina.  Some  of 
them  were  without  coats,  others  without  waistcoats  ; 
and  so  loud  were  the  cries  of  "  bis"  that  Anne  Vasil- 
ievna  ordered  the  boatmen  to  row  as  quickly  as  pos 
sible  to  the  other  end  of  the  lake.  But  before  they 
reached  the  shore  Urban  Ivanovitch  once  more  suc 
ceeded  in  astonishing  his  friends.  Having  remarked 
that  in  a  certain  part  of  the  forest  there  was  an  un 
usually  clear  and  loud  echo,  he  all  at  once  began 
imitating  the  cry  of  a  quail.  His  first  attempt  startled 
them  all,  but  they  soon  begged  him  to  repeat  the  cry, 
which  he  imitated  with  great  success.  This  encour 
aged  him  to  try  to  mew  like  a  cat ;  but  not  doing  this 
so  well,  he  took  to  imitating  the  quails'  cry  again,  and 
then  with  a  proud  glance  at  his  admiring  audience 
sank  into  silence.  Shoubine  threw  himself  forward 
to  embrace  him,  but  Urban  pushed  him  back.  At 
this  moment  the  boat  touched  the  shore,  and  they  all 
got  out,  and  began  strolling  in  the  wood. 


H2  On  the  Eve. 

Meanwhile  the  coachman,  lacicey,  and  chamber 
maid  were  busy  in  dragging  the  baskets  out  of  the 
carriage,  and  preparing  a  dinner  beneath  some  old 
lime  trees.  When  all  was  ready,  they  sat  down  round 
a  table-cloth  that  had  been  spread  on  the  grass,  and 
did  full  justice  to  the  pastry  and  other  eatables  before 
them.  For  they  all  had  excellent  appetites ;  and 
Anne  Vasilievna,  whilst  eating  heartily  herself,  kept 
on  inviting  her  guests  to  follow  her  example,  and  as 
sured  them  that  to  eat  heartily  in  the  open  air  was 
very  healthy.  She  even  thought  it  necessary  to  im 
press  this  truth  on  Urban  Ivanovitch.  "Do  not  fear," 
was  his  invariable  answer,  though  each  time  he  spoke 
his  mouth  happened  to  be  so  full  that  his  replies 
were  somewhat  indistinct.  "  How  fortunate  we  are  in 
having  such  glorious  weather !  "  she  was  also  con 
stantly  exclaiming.  She  was  another  being  from  what 
she  was  at  home,  and  seemed  to  have  grown  twenty 
years  younger.  In  fact  Bersieneff  told  her  so.  "  Yes, 
yes,"  she  replied, "  I  was  worth  looking  at  in  my  time, 
and  out  of  any  ten  among  them  all,  you  would  have 
chosen  me."  Shoubine  lolled  next  to  Zoe,  and  every 
few  minutes  was  pouring  her  out  wine,  which  she  re 
fused,  in  spite  of  his  entreaties;  and  it  generally  end 
ed  in  his  drinking  off  the  glass  himself,  and  immedi 
ately  filling  up  another  for  her  :  he  also  swore  to  her, 
that,  could  he  but  lie  there  with  his  head  resting  on 
her  knees,  he  should  dream  that  he  was  in  paradise 
itself;  but  she  told  him  that  she  would  never  allow 


On  the  Eve.  113 

him  to  take  any  such  liberties.  Ellen  seemed  to  be 
more  serious  than  the  others,  though  her  heart  was 
far  more  at  rest  than  it  had  been  for  many  a  day. 
She  was  filled  with  a  feeling  of  sympathy  and  gentle 
ness,  but  she  did  not  care  to  have  any  one  near  her, 
save  Insftroff, — and  perhaps  Bersieneff.  Andrew  Pe- 
trovitch  tried  to  read  her  thoughts,  but  in  vain,  and 
was  tormented  with  something  like  envy  and  discon 
tent. 

The  time  flew  on,  and  evening  had  already  ap 
proached.  Anne  Vasilievna  suddenly  observed  this. 
"  Ah,  bdtoushkt?  how  late  it  is !  "  she  exclaimed : 
"  drink  up  the  wine,  and  wipe  your  beards  ;  it  is  time 
to  go  home."  So  they  began  busily  packing  up  the 
things,  and  then  set  off  for  the  castle,  where  the  car 
nages  were  waiting.  As  they  passed  the  lakes,  they 
stopped  to  admire  for  a  last  time  the  beautiful  scenery. 
All  the  heavens  were  dyed  with  the  clear  evening 
red ;  the  sky  was  fantastically  streaked  with  fleecy 
clouds ;  the  leaves  of  the  trees  rustled  slightly  under 
the  soft  movement  of  the  gentle  breeze ;  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun  were  reflected  in  the  liquid  gold  of  the 
troubled  stream  ;  and  the  shell  caves  and  quaint 
grottoes  that  dotted  the  garden  stood  out  clearly  from 
the  dark -gr. en  foliage  of  the  trees. 

*  Batoushke,  the  plural  of  batoushka,  father  :  a  term  of  famil 
iarity  constantly  used  in  ordinary  conversation,  and  correspond 
ing  to  our  "  dear  fellow." 


H4  On  the  Eve. 

"  Adieu,  dear  Czaritchina  !  we  shall  not  forget  to 
day's  trip,"  exclaimed  Anne  Vasilievna.  But  at  this 
moment  there  happened  something  so  strange  and  so 
unexpected,  that  the  visit  to  Czaritchina  was  not 
likely  to  be  ever  forgotten. 

This  was  what  happened.  Anne  Vasilievna  had 
scarcely  bidden  adieu  to  Czaritchina,  when,  a  few 
steps  in  front  of  her,  from  behind  a  tall  lilac  bush, 
there  burst  forth  loud  exclamations,  shrieks,  and  cries ; 
and  the  whole  company  of  gallants,  the  same  enthusi 
astic  amateurs  who  had  lately  so  warmly  applauded 
Zoe,  stopped  up  the  road  before  them.  They  were 
all  evidently  in  a  very  merry  mood.  They  stood  for  a 
moment  dumbfounded  at  the  sight  of  the  ladies  ;  but 
one  of  them,  with  a  bull-neck,  flaring  ox-like  eyes,  and 
immense  stature,  stepped  forward,  and  with  an  awk 
ward  ill-bred  bow  came  close  up  to  Anne  Vasilievna. 

" Bon  jour,  Madame"  he  said  in  a  hoarse  gruff 
voice  ;  "  comment  vous  portez-vous  ?  " 

Anne  Vasilievna  in  evident  alarm  drew  back. 

"  And  why,"  continued  the  Hercules  in  very  bad 
Russian,  "  did  you  not  favor  us  with  an  encore  when 
we  shouted  out  bis  and  brava  ?  " 

"  Ah !  why,  why  ? "  cried  out  the  rest  of  the  com 
pany. 

Insaroff  had  gone  on  in  front ;  but  Shoubine,  who 
was  always  with  Zoe,  hurried  up  to  protect  Anne 
Vasilievna. 

"  Illustrious  stranger !  "  he  began,  "  allow  me  to 


On  the  Eve.  115 

express  to  you  the  unfeigned  astonishment  your  con 
duct  has  caused  us.  As  farfcas  I  can  judge,  you  be 
long  to  the  Saxon  branch  of  the  Caucasian  family  : 
consequently  we  have  a  right  to  infer  your  acquaint 
ance  with  the  customs  of  society,  and  yet  you  enter 
into  conversation  with  a  lady  to  whom  you  have  never 
been  introduced.  Believe  me,  under  other  circum 
stances,  I  should  be  charmed  to  become  more  closely 
acquainted  with  you,  for  I  remark  in  you  such  an  ex 
traordinary  development  of  muscles,  biceps,  triceps, 
and  deltoides,  that,  in  my  capacity  of  sculptor,  I  should 
consider  it  a  rare  piece  of  good  fortune  to  have  you 
for  a  model.  But  as  it  is,  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  us 
in  peace." 

The  "  illustrious  stranger  "  listened  to  Shoubine's 
speech  with  his  head  lolling  on  one  side,  and  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him. 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  understand  how  you  dare  to 
speak  so,"  he  muttered  after  a  pause.  "  Perhaps  you. 
think  I  am  a  shoemaker,  or  watchmaker,  or  something 
of  that  sort.  Let  me  tell  you  I  am  an  officer  in  the 
service." 

"  I  don't  dispute  that  at  all,  but "  began  Shou- 

bine. 

"  And  this  is  what  I  say,"  continued  the  unknown, 
pushing  him  aside  with  his  wrinkled  hand,  as  one  would 
a  branch  from  the  road,  "  I  ask  why  didn't  you  sing 
again  when  we  cried,  bis  ?  And  now  I'll  go  directly,  this 
minute,  if  only  this  young  lady — not  she,  that  is  not 


n6  On  the  Eve. 

necessary,  but  either  this  one  or  the  other  (pointing 
to  Ellen  and  Zoe)  will  first  give  me  einen  kuss,  as  we 
say  in  German,  a  kiss.  Well,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"Ah,  what  do  you  say?"  einen  kiiss ;  come  on," 
his  companions  cried  out  in  chorus.  "  Ach  !  Sakra- 
menter ! "  exclaimed  one  who  seemed  to  be  further 
gone  than  the  rest. 

Zoe  clutched  Insaroff's  hand ;  but  he,  gently  loos 
ening  her  grasp,  came  close  up  to  the  insolent  Her 
cules. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  go  away,"  he  said  in  a  low  but 
decided  tone. 

The  German  burst  into  a  hoarse  laugh.  "  Well,  I 
like  that.  '  Go  away !  '  And  pray,  why  may  I  not 
walk  in  just  what  direction  I  choose  ?  Why  must  I  go 
away  ?  " 

"Because  your  presence  is  displeasing  to  these 
ladies,"  answered  Insaroff,  quietly  as  before,  "  and 
because  you  are  drunk." 

"  What  ?  I  drunk  !  You  hear  that !  Horen  Sic  das, 
Herr  Provisor  ?  He  dares  to  say  to  me — an  officer. — I 
demand  instant  satisfaction  ;  and,  by  God,  I  will  have 
einen  kiiss" 

"  If  you  come  one  step  nearer,"  said  Insaroff. 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  I  will  throw  you  into  the  lake  !  " 

"  Into  the  lake  ?  Herr  Je  !  Really  ?  Well,  I  con 
fess,  that  would  be  curious — into  the  water;  but  if — " 

The  officer  raised    his    hand    threateningly,    and 


On  the  Eve.  117 

at  the  same  time  moved  two  or  three  steps  forward, 
when,  apparently  without  any  cause,  so  instantaneous 
ly  did  it  all  happen,  he  gave  a  cry,  his  whole  body  was 
lifted  high  from  the  ground,  his  legs  were  sprawling 
in  the  air,  and  before  the  ladies  knew  whether  they 
should  scream  or  not,  or  any  of  the  company  were 
quite  sure  what  was  taking  place,  our  fine  officer's 
bulky  form  was  seen  struggling  in  the  lake,  and  in  a 
minute  had  sunk  under  the  surface. 

An  exclamation  of  pity  burst  from  the  ladies,  and 
a  cry  of  "  Mein  Gott  /"  was  heard  on  the  other  side. 

A  moment  passed,  and  a  round  head,  almost  hid 
den  in  a  mass. of  wet  hair,  appeared  puffing  and  blow 
ing  above  the  water,  and  two  hands  convulsively  strug 
gling  to  catch  hold  of  some  support. 

"  He  will  be  drowned !  save  him,  save  him  !  " 
shrieked  Anne  Vasilievna  to  Insaroff,  who  was  stand 
ing  on  the  bank,  his  legs  planted  wide  apart,  breath 
ing  heavily. 

"  That  depends  on  whether  he  can  swim,"  he  an 
swered  with  a  contemptuous  and  cool  indifference. 
"  But  let  us  be  going,"  he  added,  taking  her  by  the 
hand.  "  Come  on,  Urban  and  Ellen." 

"  At  that  moment  the  unhappy  German,  having 
succeeded  in  clutching  hold  of  some  reeds  that  grew 
by  the  side  of  the  stream,  was  heard  whining  and 
grumbling  as  he  wrung  himself  dry. 

They  all  followed  Insaroff,  and  kept  close  to  him 
as  they  came  to  where  the  Germans  were  standing. 


n8  On  the  Eve. 

These  were  evidently  dispirited,  and  casting  down 
their  eyes,  let  them  go  by  without  a  word ;  only  one, 
the  bravest  of  them  all,  grumbled  as  he  shook  his 
head  :  "  Well,  really,  this — God  knows  what — what 
may  happen — when  this  is  allowed  to  pass  unno 
ticed  :  "  and  a  second  even  took  off  his  cap,  and  sa 
luted  them.  Insaroff  seemed  to  them  a  rather  dan 
gerous  character,  and  in  truth  there  was  a  baleful 
and  threatening  look  about  him  just  at  that  moment. 
The  Germans  therefore  wisely  contented  themselves 
with  attending  to  their  unlucky  companion,  who,  as 
soon  as  he  felt  himself  to  be  once  more  on  solid 
ground,  began  to  declaim  in  a  whining  tone  against 
these  "  Russian  blackguards  "  and  to  threaten  that  he 
would  complain  to  the  police,  and  to  his  Excellency 
Count  Von  Kieseritz  himself. 

But  the  "  Russian  blackguards  "  paid  no  attention 
to  his  wrath,  and  hurried  on  as  quickly  as  possible  to 
ward  the  castle.  All  were  silent  till  they  reached  the 
garden,  except  Anne  Vasilievna,  who  occasionally  re 
lieved  herself  by  an  audible  sigh.  But  they  had  no 
sooner  come  up- to  the  carriages  than  they  stood  still, 
and,  like  the  divine  heroes  of  Homer,  were  seized  one 
and  all  with  an  irresistible  and  protracted  fit  of  laugh 
ter.  Shoubine  was  the  first  to  break  into  a  shrill  peal, 
then  followed  a  hoarse  laugh  from  Bersieneff,  Zoe  next 
joining  in  with  a  kind  of  hysterical  giggle  ;  the  exam 
ple  proved  too  contagious  even  for  Anne  Vasilievna 
to  resist  any  longer,  whilst  Ellen  was  unable  to  refrain 


On  the  Eve.  119 

from  smiling,  and  Insaroff  himself  was  obliged  to  un 
bend  and  laugh  with  the  rest.  But  louder,  longer, 
and  more  noisily  than  any  of  them,  laughed  Urban 
Ivanovitch  ;  his  huge  frame  shook,  as  he  laughed, 
sneezed,  and  coughed  all  at  one  and  the  same  time. 
And  when  he  recovered,  it  was  only  to  say,  as  the 
tears  ran  from  his  eyes,  "  I  was  wondering,  *  What  is 
that  noise  ? '  I  look  round,  and  there  he  is,  flat,  sprawl 
ing  in  the  water  !  "  And  as  he  uttered  the  last  words 
with  a  sort  of  convulsive  jerk  he  burst  forth  into  an 
other  gruff  shout  of  laughter.  Zoe's  perpetual  under 
current  of  giggling  only  provoked  him  the  more. 
"  Yes,  there  were  his  legs,  high  up,  and  then  a  splash, 
and  he  was  lying  flat,  sprawling  in  the  lake  !  And 
weren't  they  surprised,  seeing  that  he  was  three  times 
as  big  as  any  of  the  rest  ?  "  he  asked  Zoe.  "  But  I 
tell  you,"  he  continued,  wiping  his -eyes,  "  I  saw  it  all ; 
it  was  done  beautifully  with  one  hand  so  on  his  hip, 
and  his  feet  firmly  set,  and  then  a  heave,  a  splash, 
and  there  was  the  German  on  his  side,  gulping  and 
splashing  about." 

A  considerable  portion  of  the  journey  homeward 
had  been  already  made,  and  Czaritchina  Castle  was 
far  out  of  sight,  but  Urban  Ivanovitch  continued  to  be 
as  noisy  as  ever  in  his  delight  at  the  German's  mishap. 
Shoubine,  who  was  seated  with  him  in  the  coach,  at 
last  succeeded  in  shaming  him  into  silence. 

Insaroff  was  evidently  ill  at  ease.  He  was  sitting 
in  the  carriage  opposite  to  Ellen, — Bersieneff  as  be- 


i2o  On  the  Eve. 

fore  occupied  the  box, — and  did  not  speak  a  word  ; 
she  too  was  equally  silent.  He  imagined  that  she 
condemned  his  conduct,  bul  in  reality  she  did  not 
condemn  him  at  all.  For  the  first  minute  she  had 
been  alarmed  and  struck  by  the  strange  expression 
of  his  face,  but  now  she  was  reflecting  over  what  had 
happened.  She  could  form  to  herself  no  clear  idea 
of  the  judgment  she  had  passed  on  the  events.  The 
feeling  that  had  been  awakened  in  her  during  the  day 
had  passed  away,  but  she  had  no  distinct  concep 
tion  of  the  new  feeling  by  which  it  had  been  replaced. 
The  partie  de  plaisir  had  lasted  far  too  long,  and  eve 
ning  had  imperceptibly  given  way  to  night.  The 
carriages  rolled  on  swiftly,  now  by  the  side  of  fast 
ripening  grain  fields,  where  the  air  was  sultry  and  la 
den  with  the  stifling  fragrance  of  wheat,  and  now  by 
the  side  of  some  broad  meadow,  where  a  light  fresh 
breeze  blew  on  the  face.  The  horizon  was,  as  it  were, 
steeped  in  a  heavy  mist.  Later,  the  moon  was  seen 
rising  dull  and  red.  Anne  Vasilievna  fell  into  a  half- 
doze  ;  Zoe  thrust  her  head  out  of  the  window,  and 
looked  at  the  road.  At  last  it  occurred  to  Ellen  that 
for  more  than  an  hour  she  had  not  spoken  to  Insa- 
roff.  She  turned  to  him  with  some  trivial  question, 
and  he  at  once  brightened  up  as  he  eagerly  answered 
her.  The  air  began  to  be  filled  with  indistinct  mut- 
terings,  the  sound  of  a  thousand  voices  talking  in  the 
distance,  and  Moscow  came  in  sight.  In  front  could 
be  caught  glimpses  of  lighted  windows,  which  every 


On  the  Eve.  121 

minute  became  more  and  more  numerous,  and  before 
long  the  wheels  were  rattling  over  a  stone  road. 
Anne  Vasilievna  woke  up  ;  they  were  all  talking, 
though  from  the  noise  of  the  wheels  and  the  clattei 
of  the  thirty-two  hoofs  of  the  horses,  no  one  could  be 
quite  sure  of  what  was  said.  The  ride  from  Moscow 
to  Koontsoff  was  long  and  dull ;  all  fell  asleep  or  kept 
silent,  bumping  their  heads  against  the  corners  of  the 
coach;  Ellen  alone  did  not  close  her  eyes,  but  kept 
them  fixed  on  Insaroff.  Shoubine's  usual  good-humor 
abandoned  him  ;  the  wind  blew  straight  into  his  eyes, 
and  annoyed  him  ;  he  buried  his  head  in  his  cloak, 
and  consoled  himself  by  grumbling  at  everything. 
Urban  Ivanovitch  was  snoring  most  complacently,  as 
he  bobbed  to  the  right  and  left.  At  last  the  carriages 
pulled  up.  Two  lackeys  handed  out  Anne  Vasiliev 
na  ;  she  was  quite  worn  out  with  the  day's  pleasure, 
and  in  bidding  her  friends  good-bye  informed  them 
that  she  was  "  half  dead :  "  and  when  they  began  to 
thank  her  for  the  pleasant  trip  they  had  had,  she  only 
repeated  the  assurance  that  she  was  "half  dead." 
Ellen  for  the  first  time  gave  her  hand  to  Insaroff,  and 
on  retiring  to  her  room, before  she  began  undressing, 
sat  long  by  the  window  thinking.  Shoubine,  on  leav 
ing  them,  whispered  in  Bersieneff 's  ear,  "  Well  isn't 
he  a  hero  ?  to  throw  a  drunken  German  into  the  lake  !" 
"  And  you  have  never  done  even  that,"  answered 
Bersieneff,  and  turned  homewards  with  Insaroff. 

It  was  already  dawn  when  the  two  friends  reached 


122  On  the  Eve. 

home.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen,  and  there  was  a 
cold  freshness  in  the  air ;  a  grey  dew  covered  the 
grass  ;  and  the  morning  lark  was  singing  high  in  the 
sky,  half  hidden  in  the  dim  abyss  of  heaven,  where 
glittered  and  sparkled  the  last  lonely  star  of  night. 


On  the  Eve. 


123 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

ELLEN'S   JOURNAL. 

SOON   after  her  acquaintance  with  InsarofT,  Ellen 
began  (for  the  fifth  or  sixth  time  in  her  life)  to 
keep  a  journal.     The  following  are  some  of  the  en 
tries  which  she  made  : — 

June. — Andrew  Petrovitch  has  brought  me  some  books,  but 
I  cannot  read  them.  I  feel  ashamed  to  confess  this  to  him  :  to 
return  them  with  a  falsehood,  and  to  say  I  have  read  them,  I  will 
not.  I  think  it  would  hurt  him.  He  notices  everything  I  say  or 
do.  He  seems  to  be  greatly  attached  to  me.  He  is  a  thoroughly 
good  man,  is  Andrew  Petrovitch. 

What  is  it  I  wish  ?  Why  is  my  heart  so  heavy  and  so  sad  ? 
Why  do  I  look  with  longing  eyes  at  the  birds  as  they  fly  by  ?  Oh 
that  I  could  fly  away  with  them,  fly,  I  know  not  where,  but  far, 
far  away !  But  is  it  not  a  sin  to  wish  such  a  thing  ?  Here  I  have 
a  mother,  a  father,  relations.  Can  it  be  that  I  do  not  love  them  ? 
No,  I  do  not  love  them  as  I  should  wish  to  love  them.  It  is  ter 
rible  to  make  such  a  confession,  but  it  is  true.  It  may  be  I  am 
a  great  sinner ;  it  may  be  because  I  am  so  unhappy,  so  ill  at  ease. 
Some  heavy  hand  is  laid  upon  me,  is  strangling  me.  It  is  ex 
actly  as  if  I  were  in  a  prison,  and  there,  there,  the  walls  are  now 
closing  in  around  me  !  Why  is  it  that  others  do  not  feel  this  ? 
And  whom  shall  I  love,  if  I  am  cold  to  those  of  my  own  blood  ? 


124  '/        On  the  Eve. 

0y 

I  se'e,  father  il  right ;  he  often  reproaches  me  for  loving  only  dogs 
and  cats.  I  must  think  well  of  this.  I  pray  too  seldom  ;  I  must 
pray  oftener.  And  yet,  I  think  I  could  love  ! 

I  am  still  very  shy  with  Mr.  Insaroff.  I  do  not  know  why  I 
am  so  :  I  am  not  so  very  young,  and  he  is  so  simple  and  so  good. 
At  times  his  face  has  a  very  serious  expression.  He  is  evidently 
occupied  with  some  important  business.  I  feel  this,  and  am,  as 
it  were,  ashamed  to  take  up  his  time.  Andrew  Petrovitch,  that 
is  another  thing.  With  him  I  can  chatter  the  whole  day  long. 
But  he  too  is  always  speaking  to  me  of  Insaroff.  And  such  a 
strange  history  !  Last  night  I  saw  him  in  a  dream  with  a  dagger 
in  his  hand,  and  I  fancied  he  cried  out,  "  I  shall  kill  thee  and 
mvself."  How  absurd ! 

Oh  !  if  some  one  would  but  t  ell  me,  This,  or  that,  is  what  you 
ought  to  do  !  To  be  good,  that  is  not  enough  ;  to  do  good,  ah, 
that  is  the  great  thing  in  life.  But  how  to  do  good  ?  If  I  could 
but  conquer  myself !  I  do  not  know  why  I  think  so  often  of  Mr. 
Insaroff.  When  he  comes,  and  sits  down  and  listens  so  quietly, 
never  trying  to  show  himself  off,  and  never  talking  noisily  or 
ridiculously,  I  look  at  him,  and  find  it  pleasant,  but  no  more  : 
and  yet,  when  he  has  left,  I  remember  his  every  word,  and  am 
agitated  and  disturbed,  without  myself  knowing  the  reason  why. 
He  speaks  French  badly,  and  is  not  ashamed  of  it ;  I  like  him 
for  that.  It  is  true,  however,  that  I  always  think  a  great  deal 
over  the  character  and  ways  of  a  new  acquaintance.  When  talk 
ing  with  him  to-day,  I  suddenly  remembered  our  brother  William, 
who  rescued  an  old  cripple  from  a  burning  cottage,  and  was 
nearly  killed  himself.  Father  declared  that  he  was  a  brave  fel 
low,  mamma  gave  him  five  roubles,  and  I  felt  ready  to  hug  him. 
And  he  had  such  a  simple,  even  stupid  expression,  and  after 
wards  he  took  to  drinking. 


On  the  Eve.         \£Lf  *         I25 

<§&>, 

To-day  I  gave  a  penny  to  a  poor  beggar- 
asked  me  why  I  was  so  sad.  I  had  no  idea  that  I  looked!; 
I  think  it  must  be  because  I  am  alone,  quite  alone,  left  to  my  own 
thoughts,  whether  good  or  bad.  I  have  no  real  friend.  He  who 
would  be  a  friend,  I  do  not  require ;  and  he  whom  I  would  have, 
passes  by. 

I  do  not  know  what  ails  me  to-day ;  I  feel  distracted,  as 
though  I  must  fall  on  my  knees,  and  beg  and  implore  for  mercy. 
It  is  as  if  some  one,  I  know  not  who,  were  murdering  me,  and  my 
soul  sinks  within  me,  I  am  seized  with  shudderings,  burst  into 
tears,  and  am  unable  to  calm  myself.  O  my  God,  give  me  peace 
and  rest !  Thou  alone  art  able  to  give  me  quiet,  all  else  is  vain 
and  powerless:  neither  my  little  deeds  of  charity,  nor  my  occu 
pations,  nor  anything,  nothing  save  Thou,  can  aid  me.  To  what 
end  has  my  youth,  my  life,  been  given  me  ?  Why  have  I  a  soul  ? 
oh,  why  is  all  this  ? 

Insaroff,  Mr.  Insaroff — truly,  I  do  not  know  how  to  write  of 
him — continues  to  occupy  my  thoughts.  I  should  like  to  pene 
trate  to  his  very  soul,  to  know  him  really.  He  seems  to  be  so 
open,  so  unreserved,  and  yet  I  can  decipher  nothing.  At  times 
he  looks  at  me  with  such  inquiring  eyes,  or  is  it  merely  fancy  ? 
Paul  still  annoys  me  more  than  ever;  lam  quite  angry  with  him. 
What  is  it  he  wants  ?  He  is  in  love  with  me,  but  I  do  not  need 
his  love.  He  is  in  love  with  Zoe  too.  I  am  unjust  to  him  ;  he 
told  me  yesterday  that  I  can  never  be  unjust  by  halves  :  and  it  is 
true.  Alas !  I  feel  that  one  must  be  unhappy,  or  poor,  or  ill, 
really  to  know  one's  self. 

Why  did  Andrew  Petrovitch  tell  me  to-day  about  those  two 
Bulgarians  ?  He  evidently  had  some  object  in  telling  me  it. 
What  have  I  to  clo  with  Mr.  Insaroff 's  affairs  ?  I  am  very  vexed 
with  Andrew  Petrovitch. 


126  On  the  Eve. 

Though  I  have  taken  up  the  pen,  I  scarcely  know  what  to 
write.  How  unexpected  was  our  conversation  in  the  garden  ! 
What  tenderness  and  truthfulness  in  his  every  word  !  And  how 
soon  it  has  all  come  about !  Now  we  are  quite  old  old  friends, 
each  knowing  the  other  thoroughly  and  without  reserve.  How 
is  it  that  I  never  understood  him  till  now !  How  near  he  has 
grown  to  me  !  And  what  is  stranger  than  all,  I  am  beginning  to 
be  much  more  composed.  It  seems  absurd  that  only  yesterday  I 
was  angry  with  Andrew  Petrovitch,  angry  with  him  too,  and 
called  him  Mr.  Insaroff,  and  to-day —  At  last  I  have  found  a  true 
man  ;  one  in  whom  I  can  trust.  There  is  nothing  false  about 
him ;  he  is  the  first  man  I  have  ever  come  across  who  is  not 
false  ;  the  rest  are  all  false,  false  altogether.  Andrew  Petrovitch, 
good,  kind  Andrew  Petrovitch,  why  do  I  thus  insult  you  ?  No  ! 
Andrew  Petrovitch  may  be  more  learned,  wiser  :  this  may  be,  but 
he  is  so  little  when  compared  with  him.  Whenever  he  speaks  of 
his  fatherland,  his  form  becomes  fuller,  his  face  wins  a  strange 
beauty,  and  his  voice  swells  into  a  manlier  tone ;  then,  indeed, 
there  is  not  a  man  in  the  whole  world  to  whom  he  need  yield. 
And  he  not  only  talks,  but  he  acts,  and  will  act.  I  will  ask  him — 
How  he  turned  towards  me  and  smiled !  None  but  brothers 
smile  as  he  did.  I  am  so  happy.  The  first  time  he  called  upon 
us,  I  little  thought  that  we  should  be  so  intimate.  And  now  I  am 
very  glad  that  I  was  indifferent  at  first.  Indifferent !  Can  it  be 
that  I  am  not  indifferent  now  ? 

It  is  long,  long  since  I  have  been  so  thoroughly  at  peace  as  I 
am  now.  I  am  perfectly  at  peace.  Nor  have  I  anything  to  write. 
I  ste  him  constantly,  that  is  all.  What  more  need  I  say  ? 

Paul  has  shut  himself  up  ;  Andrew  Petrovitch  begins  to  come 
much  seldomer  than  he  did.  Poor  Andrew  !  I  sometimes  fancy 
that  he — but  yet,  that  cannot  be.  I  like  talking  with  Andrew 


On  the  Eve.  127 

Fetrovitch  ;  never  a  word  about  himself,  but  always  about  some 
thing  serious,  something  useful.  Not  like  Shoubine.  Shoubine 
is  as  gaudy  as  a  butterfly,  and  is  vain  of  his  gaudiness,  which  is 
more  than  butterflies  are.  Still  both  Shoubine  and  Andrew  Pe- 
trovitch — well,  I  know  what  I  mean. 

He  likes  coming  here,  that  I  can  see.  But  why  ?  What  can 
he'  find  in  me  ?  It  is  true,  we  have  both  the  same  tastes  ;  neither 
of  us  can  bear  poetry,  and  neither  of  us  has  the  slightest  idea  of  art. 
But  how  infinitely  greater  he  is !  He  is  quiet,  and  I  in  perpetual 
agitation  ;  he  has  a  work,  an  aim  ;  but  I,  what  is  my  work,  where 
is  my  goal  ?  He  is  quiet,  but  his  mind  is  ever  busy.  The  time 
will  come  when  he  will  leave  us  forever,  and  go  to  his  own  coun 
try,  far  away,  beyond  the  sea.  What  then  ?  God  grant  he  may  ! 
I  shall  always  be  glad  that  I  knew  him  whilst  he  was  amongst  us. 
Why  is  he  not  a  Russian  ?  No,  he  never  could  be  that.  And 
mamma  likes  him  :  she  says  he  is  an  excellent  young  man.  Good 
mamma !  But  she  does  not  understand  him.  Paul  is  silent ;  he 
understands  that  I  was  not  pleased  with  his  rude  hints ;  but  he 
is  jealous  of  him.  The  silly  fellow  !  What  reason  has  he ;  as 
if  I  ever —  But  all  this  is  folly  :  how  could  such  thoughts  come 
into  my  head  ? 

It  seems  strange  that  up  to  this  time,  up  to  my  twentieth  year, 
I  should  never  have  loved.  I  think  that  the  reason  why  D.  (I 
shall  name  him  D.  in  my  journal, — I  like  the  name  of  Demetrius) 
is  so  tranquil  is  because  he  has  devoted  his  entire  self  to  one 
work,  to  the  realization  of  one  dream.  What  can  disturb  him  ? 
He  who  gives  himself  up  entirely,  entirely,  entirely,  is  superior  to 
all  contingencies.  It  is  not  /  wish,  but  it  wishes.  By  the  way,  we 
both  of  us  like  the  same  flowers.  To-day  I  plucked  a  rose — one 
of  the  leaves  fell,  and  he  picked  it  up.  I  gave  him  the  rose. 

For  some  time  I  have  had  terrible  dreams.  What  do  they 
forebode  ? 


128  On  the  Eve. 

D.  comes  to  see  us  very  often.  Yesterday  he  remained  the 
whole  evening.  He  wishes  to  teach  me  Bulgarian.  I  get  on 
with  him  as  if  he  were  one  of  ourselves.  Better  than  if  he  were 
one  of  ourselves. 

How  the  days  fly !  All  is  well  with  me,  and  yet  with  my 
happiness  there  is  at  times  mingled  a  feeling  of  sadness,  and, 
whilst  thanking  God  for  His  goodness,  tears  come  into  my  eyes. 
Oh,  warm  bright  days  ! 

All  is  well  with  me  as  before ;  only  seldom,  very  seldom,  do 
I  feel  sad.  I  am  happy.  Am  I  happy  ? 

It  will  be  long  before  I  forget  our  picnic  yesterday.  What 
strange,  new,  terrible  impressions  !  When  he  so  quickly  seized 
that  giant,  and  hurled  him,  as  though  he  had  been  a  tiny  ball, 
into  the  lake,  I  was  not  frightened,  but  he  terrified  me.  And 
then  there  was  something  evil  in  his  expression,  something  almost 
cruel.  In  what  a  tone  he  said  those  words,  "  Let  him  swim  !  " 
I  felt  as  if  I  were  estranged  from  him  by  those  words.  But 
it  may  be  I  did  not  comprehend  him.  And  then,  when  they  all 
laughed,  and  when  I  laughed  too,  how  sorry  I  felt  for  him !  I 
could  see  that  he  was  ashamed,  ashamed  because  I  was  there. 
He  told  me  so  afterwards,  in  the  carriage,  when  it  was  quite  dark 
and  I  tried  to  see  his  face,  but  feared  to  look  at  him.  Yes,  one 
cannot  joke  with  him,  it  is  no  playing  matter,  and  he  knows  how 
to  defend  himself.  But  why  that  evil  look,  those  trembling  lips, 
that  strange,  concentrated  passion  in  the  eyes  ?  Or,  must  it  be 
so  with  men  like  him  ?  Is  it  impossible  to  be  manly  and  brave 
without  throwing  off  much  that  is  tender  and  gentle  ?  "  Life  is 
rough  and  cruel,"  he  said  to  me  not  long  ago.  I  repeated  his 
words  to  Andrew  Petrovitch,  but  he  did  not  agree  with  D. 
Which  of  them  is  right  ?  And  how  joyously  the  day  began  ! 
How  glad  I  was  to  walk  by  his  side,  though  neither  of  us  said  a 
word  !  But  I  am  glad  at  what  happened,  seeing  how  it  all  ended. 


On  the  Eve.  129 

1  am  again  restless  and  disturbed — probably,  I  am  not  well. 

All  these  days  I  have  written  nothing  in  my  journal ;  I  did 
not  wish  to  write  anything.  I  felt  that,  write  what  I  would,  it 
would  be  no  true  reflection  of  my  soul.  And  what  is  it  that  agi 
tates  me  so  strangely  ?  I  have  had  a  long  conversation  with 
him,  from  which  I  have  leained  much.  He  told  me  all  his  plans. 
By  the  way,  I  know  now  why  he  has  that  wound  in  his  neck. 
Good  God !  when  I  think  that  he  was  at  death's  door,  complete 
ly  riddled  with  wounds,  and  only  rescued  with  the  greatest  diffi 
culty.  He  anticipates  war,  and  is  glad  of  it.  And  yet  in  spite 
of  all  this  I  never  saw  D.  so  sad.  What  is  it  that  can  make  him 
so  sad  ?  Papa  returned  to-day  from  town,  found  us  sitting  to 
gether,  and  seemed  angry  at  seeing  us  together.  Andrew  Petro- 
vitch  came  in  the  evening  ;  I  fancy  he  has  grown  thinner  and 
paler  than  he  was.  He  was  not  so  friendly  with  me  as  usual ;  I 
fear  I  have  been  cold  with  him  ;  and  he  suddenly  went  off  to 
Shoubine's  room.  I  have  quite  forgotten  Shoubine.  I  will  go 
and  see  him,  and  will  try  to  make  amends  for  my  neglect.  Now 
I  am  not  angry  with  him  at  all,  or  with  anybody  in  the  whole 
world.  Andrew  Petrovitch  spoke  to  me  in  a  kind  of  reproach 
ful  tone.  -  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  Why  is  all  around  me  and 
within  me  so  dark  ?  It  seems  as  if  around  me  and  within  me 
was  something  enigmatical,  something  I  must  solve,  and  that  be 
fore  long. 

I  could  not  sleep  last  night,  my  head  ached  terribly.  I  can 
not  write.  He  came  to-day  quite  early,  but  scarcely  stayed  at 
all,  and  I  wished  so  much  to  speak  with  him.  He  appeared  to 
avoid  me.  Yes,  I  could  see  that  he  tried  to  avoid  me. 

The  enigma  is  solved;  light  has  broken  in  upon  me.     Great 
God  !  be  merciful  to  me.     I  love  him  J 
9 


130  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

SILENT  LOVE. 

ON  that  same  day  on  which  Ellen  had  written 
those  last  tender  words  in  her  journal,  InsarofT 
was  sitting  in  BersienefT  's  room,  BersienefT  standing 
by  the  table  with  an  expression  of  perplexity  in  his 
countenance.  Insaroff  had  just  informed  him  of  his 
intention  to  return  to  Moscow  the  next  day. 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  cried  Bersieneff,  "  the  fine 
weather  is  only  now  setting  in.  What  in  the  world 
will  you  find  to  do  at  Moscow  ? "  And  so  sudden  !  I 
hope  you  have  had  no  bad  news  ?  " 

"  I  have  received  no  news  of  any  kind,"  answered 
Insaroff;  "  but  I  am  convinced  that  I  ought  to  stay 
here  no  longer." 

"  But  why  can't " 

"  Andrew  Petrovitch,"  interrupted  Insaroff,  "  be 
so  kind,  I  pray  you,  as  no  longer  to  insist  on  the  mat 
ter.  It  is  painful  enough  to  have  to  leave  you ;  but 
there  is  nothing  to  be  done." 

Bersieneff  looked  earnestly  at  his  friend. 

"  I  know,"  he  said  at  last,  "  there  is  no  persuading 
you.  So,  it  is  decided." 


On  the  Eve.  131 

"  Quite  decided,"  answered  Insaroff,  as  he  got  up 
and  left  the  room. 

For  some  time  Bersieneff  remained  lost  in  thought, 
then  took  up  his  hat,  and  set  off  towards  the  Stachoffs.' 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  me,"  Ellen  said  to 
him,  as  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

"  I  have ;  but  how  did  you  guess  it  ?" 

"  That  doesn't  matter  :  but  tell  me,  what  is  it  ?" 

Bersieneff  told  her  of  Insaroff 's  intention. 

Ellen  grew  visibly  pale,  and  continued  silent  for  a 
while. 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?"  she  asked,  but  the  words 
were  spoken  with  difficulty. 

"  You  know,"  replied  Bersieneff,  "  that  Demetrius 
Nikanorovitch  does  not  like  giving  an  account  of  his 
actions.  But  I  think — let  us  sit  down,  Ellen  Nicho- 
laevna,  you  are  not  quite  well — I  think  I  can  guess 
what  is  the  reason  of  this  sudden  departure." 

"  But  what  can  be  his  motive  ?  what  can  it  be  ? " 
repeated  Ellen,  as  she  unconsciously,  and  with  more 
than  a  woman's  strength,  grasped  Bersieneff 's  hand. 
Her  own  was  icy  cold. 

"  Well,"  began  Bersieneff,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  how 
can  I  best  explain  to  you  what  I  mean  ?  Let  me  go 
back  to  the  spring  of  this  year,  to  the  time  when  I 
began  to  be  acquainted  with  Insaroff.  I  met  him  one 
evening  at  the  house  of  a  relative :  this  relative  had 
a  daughter,  an  extremely  beautiful  girl.  I  fancied 


132  On  the  Eve. 

that  Insaroff  was  struck  with  her  beauty,  and  told  him 
so.  He  only  laughed,  and  assured  me  that  I  was  mis 
taken,  that  his  heart  was  as  yet  untouched,  but  that 
he  would  at  once  leave  the  place  were  anything  of 
the  kind  to  happen,  since  he  was  resolved — these 
were  his  words — never  to  sacrifice  his  duty  and  the 
work  of  his  life  to  his  own  personal  pleasure  and  hap 
piness.  'I  am  a  Bulgarian,'  he  said,  '  and  have  no 
need  of  the  love  of  a  Russian  girl.' " 

"  But — what  then — you "  muttered  Ellen,  as 

she  turned  aside  her  head,  like  a  man  dreading  the 
fall  of  some  heavy  blow  ;  but  all  the  while  keeping  a 
convulsive  hold  of  Bersieneff 's  hand. 

"  I  think,"  said  Bersieneff,  in  a  hesitating  tone  and 
with  his  head  cast  down,  "  I  think,  that  what  I  then 
wrongly  guessed  to  have  taken  place,  has  now  hap 
pened." 

"  That  is — you  think — for  God's  sake,  don't  tor 
ture  me  any  longer !  "  Ellen  cried  with  sudden  vehe 
mence. 

"  I  think,"  hurriedly  continued  Bersieneff,  "  that  In 
saroff  loves  a  Russian  girl,  and  in  accordance  with 
his  oath  is  determined  to  quit  us  at  once." 

Ellen  clutched  his  hand  with  a  still  tighter  grasp, 
and  bent  down  her  head  still  lower,  as  if  desirous  to 
hide  from  another's  gaze  the  blush  of  shame  that  sud 
denly  crimsoned  all  her  face  and  neck. 

"  Andrew  Petrovitch,  you  are  as  good  as  an 
angel !  "  she  said  ;  and  then  added  in  a  hesitating 


On  the  Eve.  133 

voice,  "  but  I  suppose  he  will  come  and  bid  us  good 
bye." 

"  I  imagine  so ; — yes,  he  is  sure  to  come,  since  he 
leaves  us  against  his  will." 

"  Tell  him,  tell  him " 

But  here  the  unhappy  girl  broke  down,  her  eyes 
slowly  filled  with  burning  tears,  and  all  pale  and  trem 
bling  she  rushed  from  the  room. 

"  How  passionately  she  loves  him  !  "  thought  Ber- 
sienefT,  as  he  made  his  way  slowly  homewards.  "I 
had  no  suspicion  of  it,  never  realized  that  she  loved 
him  so  passionately.  She  told  me  that  I  was  good — < 
good  as  an  angel !  But  who  shall  say  what  was  the  feel 
ing  that  urged  me  to  reveal  it  all  to  Ellen  ?  There  was 
no  virtue  in  it — it  was  not  because  I  am  good.  It 
was  nothing  but  a  cursed  wish  to  know  all,  to  be  con 
vinced,  even  though  the  conviction  should  strike  me  a 
death-blow.  Well,  now  I  may  be  content:  they  love 
one  another,  and  I  served  to  fan  their  love  into  a  flame. 
The  future  mediator  between  science  and  the  Rus 
sian  public  is  what  Shoubine  calls  me.  And  in  truth 
it  would  seem  that  my  destiny  is  to  be  a  media 
tor.  But  if,  after  all,  I  am  mistaken  ?  No,  that  can 
not  be." 

Andrew  Petrovitch  felt  miserably  wretched,  and 
had  no  heart  to  sit  down  to  the  study  of  Raumer. 

On  the  following  day,  about  two  o'clock,  Insaroff 
came  to  the  Stachoffs'.  As  if  on  purpose,  Anne  Vas- 
ilievna  was  engaged  at  that  hour  with  a  visitor,  the 


134  On  the  Eve. 

wife  of  a  neighboring  priest,  a  very  excellent  and 
worthy  woman,  but  in  constant  hot  water  with  the  po 
lice,  owing  to  her  persistent  obstinacy  in  bathing,  in 
the  very  middle  of  the  day,  in  a  pond  by  the  side  of 
a  road,  along  which  a  certain  important  general's  fam 
ily  frequently  passed.  In  the  first  impulse  of  the  mo 
ment  Ellen,  whose  face  became  perfectly  bloodless  the 
instant  she  heard  Insaroff 's  footstep,was  inclined  to  be 
glad  at  the  presence  of  a  stranger ;  but  then  her  heart 
died  within  her  at  the  thought  that  Insaroff  might  de 
part  without  saying  one  word  to  her  in  private.  He  too 
seemed  troubled,  and  noticeably  avoided  her  glance. 
"  Can  it  be  that  he  will  go  away  so  abruptly?  "  mur 
mured  Ellen  to  herself.  And  as  she  thought  thus,  In 
saroff  had  already  risen  to  say  good-bye  to  Anne  Vas- 
ilievna,  when  Ellen  got  up  hurriedly  from  her  seat, 
and  called  him  aside  to  the  window.  The  good  vicar- 
ess  appeared  to  be  astonished,  and  turned  round  to 
satisfy  her  curiosity  as  to  what  the  young  people  were 
doing,  but  was  so  tightly  laced  that  her  stays  cracked 
at  every  movement.  She  therefore  resumed  her 
former  posture. 

"Listen,"  hurriedly  whispered  Ellen.  "I  know 
why  you  have  come  ;  Andrew  Petrovitch  has  told  me 
of  your  plans  :  but  I  beg  you,  1  implore  you,  do  not 
leave  Koontsoff  to-day,  but  come  again  to-morrow, 
only  earlier,  say  eleven  o'clock.  I  have  two  words  to 
say  to  you." 

Insaroff  silently  bent  his  head. 


On  the  Eve.  135 

"  I  will  not  try  to  keep  you  here.  It  is  a  promise 
then  ?  " 

Insaroff  again  bowed  his  head,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Nelly,  come  here,"  cried  Anne  Vasilievna  ;  "just 
look  what  a  pretty  reticule  mdtoushka*  has." 

"  My  own  work,"  simpered  the  vicaress. 

Ellen  left  the  window.  Insaroff  did  not  stay  above 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Ellen  with  furtive  glances 
watched  his  every  motion.  He  did  not  remain  in  one 
place,  did  not  know  where  to  look,  and  when  he  left, 
quitted  the  room  in  an  unconscious,  abstracted  man 
ner. 

Slowly  passed  that  day  with  Ellen,  and  still  more 
slowly  the  long,  long  night.  For  hours  she  sat  mo 
tionless  upon  the  bed,  her  hands  clasped  around  her 
knees,  and  her  head  bent  listlessly  over  them ;  and 
then  she  restlessly  moved  to  the  window,  pressing  her 
burning  forehead  against  its  cold  pane ;  and  all  the 
while  she  pondered  and  pondered  and  pondered  one 
and  the  same  thought,  till  the  brain,  weary  with  the 
long  effort,  refused  to  think  any  longer.  Her  heart 
ceased  to  beat  within  her,  her  whole  frame  seemed 
robbed  of  life,  all  feeling  had  passed  away ;  only  the 
veins  of  her  temples  throbbed  as  if  they  would  burst, 
her  head  was  burning  hot,  and  her  lips  feverishly  dry, 
"  He  will  come — he  did  not  say  good-bye  to  mamma — 

*  Matoushka,  literally  "  little  mother,"  employed  as  a  term 
of  affection  towards  women  in  the  same  way  as  batoushka  is 
used  for. 


136  On  the  Eve. 

he  will  not  deceive  me.  But  is  it  true — what  Andrew 
Petrovitch  said  ?  He  may  be  wrong,  have  misunder 
stood.  He  did  not  promise  in  words  to  come ;  but  it 
cannot  be  that  I  shall  never  see  him  again."  Such 
were  the  thoughts  that  all  that  night  perpetually 
haunted  her  ;  she  could  not  banish  them  from  her 
mind,  for  they  did  not  come  and  then  depart  like  idle 
fears,  but  literally  filled  her  soul  like  some  heavy  mist. 
"  He  loves  me  !  "  suddenly  flashed  through  her  whole 
being,  and  she  gazed  eagerly  into  the  dark  night,  as 
a  secret  smile,  unseen  by  any  one,  played  on  her  lips; 
but  she  mournfully  shook  her  head,  clasped  her  hands 
behind  her  neck,  and  again,  like  some  heavy  mist,  a 
shuddering  fear  seized  upon  her  soul.  Before  the 
morning  she  undressed,  and  lay  down  on  the  bed,  but 
was  unable  to  sleep.  The  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun 
played  on  the  floor  of  her  room.  "  Oh  if  he  only 
loves  me  !  "  she  suddenly  cried  out,  and,  unabashed 
by  the  light  that  shone  in  upon  her,  threw  off  the 
clothes. 

She  got  up,  dressed,  and  went  down  stairs.  No 
one  was  stirring  in  the  house.  She  went  into  the  gar 
den  ;  but  in  the  garden  all  was  so  still,  so  green  and 
so  fresh,  the  birds  singing  with  such  joyous  confi 
dence,  that  nature's  very  gladness  only  made  her 
more  weary  and  more  sad.  "  Oh,"  she  thought,  "  if 
it  be  but  true,  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  world 
happier  than  I  am  ;  but  is  it  true  ?  "  She  returned  to 
her  room,  and,  in  order  to  kill  time,  began  changing 


On  the  Eve.  137 

her  dress.  But  the  dress  fell  and  slipped  idly  through 
her  fingers,  and  she  was  still  sitting  half-dressed  before 
the  looking-glass  when  she  was  summoned  to  break 
fast.  She  went  down  stairs.  Her  mother  remarked 
her  paleness,  but  merely  observed,  "  How  interesting 
you  look  to-day  !  "  and  then  with  a  meaning  glance 
added,  "  That  dress  suits  you  admirably ;  I  advise 
you  to  wear  it  whenever  you  want  to  captivate  any 
one."  Ellen  made  no  reply,  and  sat  down  to  the  table. 
In  the  meanwhile  the  clock  struck  nine  ;  two  long 
hours  before  it  would  be  eleven !  Ellen  took  up  a 
book,  then  began  to  sew,  and  then  returned  to  her 
book;  she  then  determined  to  walk  a  hundred  times 
up  and  down  a  certain  path  in  the  garden,  and  did 
so  ;  then  came  back  and  seemingly  for  hours  watched 
Anne  Vasilievna  lay  out  the  cards  and  settle  down  to 
a  quiet  game  of  patience  ;  and  then  she  looked  at  her 
watch,  and  saw  that  it  was  not  yet  ten  o'clock.  Shou- 
bine  came  in,  and  she  tried  to  get  into  conversation 
with  him,  and  began  excusing  herself  to  him,  though 
she  had  no  clear  idea  of  what  it  was  she  wished  him 
to  pardon.  Every  word  she  spoke  was  not  only  ut 
tered  with  a  visible  effort,  but  made  her  more  and 
more  confused.  Shoubine  bent  down  and  looked  at 
her  fixedly.  She  evidently  expected  from  him  some 
mo<x!ng  word,  but  looking  up  she  saw  before  her  a 
Sc.d  but  friendly  face.  She  smiled  at  his  woe-begone 
look.  Shoubine  smiled  in  return,  and  then  silently 
getting  up,  left  the  room.  She  wished  to  call  him 


138  On  the  Eve. 

back,  but  at  the  moment  could  find  no  words.  At  last 
she  heard  the  clock  strike  eleven.  She  began  to 
wait,  to  wait,  to  wait,  and  to  listen.  She  could  no 
longer  do  anything;  she  could  no  longer  even  think. 
Her  heart  beat  quickly  and  loudly,  and  what  was 
stranger  than  all,  the  time  that  had  passed  so  slowly 
before,  now  seemed  to  fly.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
passed,  half  an  hour,  then,  as  Ellen  fancied,  a  few 
minutes,  when  she  suddenly  shuddered,  as  she  heard 
the  clock  strike,  not  twelve,  but  one.  "  He  will  not 
come,  he  will  go  away  without  even  saying  good-bye  !  " 
and  with  this  thought  the  blood  rushed  feverishly  to 
her  head,  she  felt  as  though  she  could  not  breathe,  and 
her  throat  swelled  with  convulsive  sobbings. 

She  hurried  to  her  room,  and  burying  her  face  in 
her  hands  threw  herself  upon  the  bed.  She  lay  there 
motionless  for  half  an  hour,  the  hot  tears  trickling  on 
to  the  pillow  through  her  close-pressed  fingers.  She 
suddenly  raised  herself  up  into  a  sitting  posture  ;  a 
marvellous  change  had  come  over  her,  the  whole  ex 
pression  of  her  face  was  altered  ;  her  eyes,  but  now 
wet  with  tears,  dried  of  themselves  and  gleamed  with 
an  unnatural  fire,  her  brows  were  closely  knit,  and 
her  lips  tightly  pressed  together.  And  so  passed  an 
other  half-hour.  For  the  "last  time  Ellen  heaved  a 
bitter  sigh — was  it  the  sound  of  a  familiar  voice  that 
called  her  ? — rose  up,  put  on  her  hat,  threw  a  cloak 
over  her  shoulders,  and  hurrying  unobserved  from 
the  house,  flew  with  eager  steps  along  the  road  that 
led  to  Bersieneff's  lodging. 


On  the  Eve.  139 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE     LANGUAGE     OF     LOVE. 

ELLEN  hurried  on,  with  her  head  slightly  bent 
down,  and  her  eyes  peering  eagerly  forward. 
She  experienced  no  fear,  had  formed  no  definite  plan 
as  to  what  she  meant  to  do  ;  her  only  desire  was  to 
see  Insaroff  yet  once  more.  So  she  hurried  on,  with 
out  observing  that  the  sun  had  long  been  buried  be 
hind  heavy  thick  clouds,  that  the  wind  in  fitful  gusts 
was  howling  among  the  trees,  and  that  the  dust  began 
to  rise  along  the  road.  Large  drops  of  rain  began  to 
fall,  but  she  did  not  notice  it ;  in  a  few  minutes  the 
rain  poured  heavily,  accompanied  at  frequent  intervals 
with  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  and  heavy  peals  of 
thunder.  Ellen  then  for  the  first  time  stopped  and 
looked  timidly  about  her.  Fortunately,  not  far  from 
the  spot  where  she  had  been  overtaken  by  the  tempest, 
there  stood  an  old  tumble-down  oratory,  built  over  a 
dried-up  well.  She  hastened  towards  it,  and  took 
refuge  under  its  low  roof.  The  rain  now  came  down 
in  torrents,  and  the  whole  sky  was  black  with  dense 
clouds.  In  dumb  despair  Ellen  looked  out  to  see  if 


140  On  the  Eve. 

there  were  any  prospects  of  the  storm  soon  clearing 
up.  All  hopes  of  seeing  Insaroffwere  now  destroyed. 
An  old  beggar-woman  came  into  the  oratory,  and 
shaking  herself  said ,  with  a  low  bow,  "  Allow  me  to 
take  shelter,  mdtoushka?  and  then,  puffing  and  sigh 
ing  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  well.  Ellen  put  her 
hand  into  her  pocket :  the  old  woman  observed  the 
movement,  and  her  yellowish  shrivelled  face,  which 
even  still  bore  faint  traces  of  former  beauty,  bright 
ened  up  "  Thank  you,  my  dear  good  foster-lady,"  she 
muttered.  Ellen  discovered  that  she  had  forgotten 
to  put  her  purse  in  her  pocket,  but  the  old  woman 
was  still  stretching  out  her  hand. 

"  I  have  no  money,  bdboushka?  said  Ellen ;  "  but 
take  this,  it  may  fetch  something ;  "  and  she  gave  her 
her  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Oh,  oh,  my  beauty,"  cried  the  old  woman, "  and 
what  do  I  want  with  your  handkerchief?  Is  it,  then, 
a  wedding  present  for  my  little  grand-daughter,  who 
is  soon  to  be  married?  The  Lord  reward  you  for  your 
goodness ! " 

A  heavy  peal  of  thunder  broke  overhead. 

"  The  Lord  Jesus  Christ  have  mercy  on  us  !  "  mur 
mured  the  old  woman,  as  she  crossed  herself  three 
times.  "I  surely  have  seen  you  somewhere  before," 
she  added  after  a  short  silence.  "  This  is  not  the 
first  time  you  have  given  me  something,  I  fancy  ? " 

Ellen  looked  attentively  at  her,  and  then  recog 
nized  the  old  woman. 


On  the  Eve.  141 

"Yes,  bdboushka?  she  replied;  "you  once  asked 
me  why  I  was  so  sad." 

"  To  be  sure,  gohibka?  to  be  sure.  I  thought  I 
knew  you.  *  And  you  are  not  happier  now  than  you 
were  before.  Just  look  at  your  handkerchief,  wet  with 
tears.  Ah,  you  young  chickens  have  one  and  all  the 
same  great  sorrow." 

"  What  sorrow,  bdboushka  ?  " 

"  What  sorrow  ?  Ah,  my  pretty  dear,  you  can't 
deceive  me,  I  am  too  old  to  be  cheated.  I  know  what 
ails  you  ;  yours  is  no  orphan's  sorrow.  I  too  was 
young  once,  my  little  heart,  and  have  passed  through 
it  all.  And  now,  because  you  are  good  and  charitable, 
I  will  tell  you  what  it  is.  You  have  come  across  a 
good,  brave  man  :  you  are  no  flirty  girl ;  you  will  cling 
to  him  alone,  cling  to  him  till  death.  It  has  been  so 
before,  and  will  be  so  again,  seeing  such  is  God's  will. 
You  are  surprised  at  what  I  tell  you,  but  know  I  am 
a  fortune-teller.  Never  mind,  I  will  take  your  hand 
kerchief,  and  with  it  will  take  away  all  your  sorrow. 
I  will  take  it  all  away — that  is  enough.  You  see,  it  is 
not  raining  so  fast  now,  but  you  stay  under  shelter  a 
little  longer.  I  shall  go  on — it  is  not  the  first  time  I 
have  been  out  in  the  wet.  So  you  understand  :  you 
had  a  great  sorrow,  but  it  is  passed  away,  and  you 
may  now  forget  it.  O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  " 

*  Another  of  the  terms  of  affection  in  which  the  Russian  lan 
guage  is  so  rich — signifying  literally  "  little  dove."  The  mascu 
line  form  is  gohibchick. 


142  On  the  Eve. 

The  old  woman  got  up  from  the  steps,  left  the 
oratory,  and  proceeded  on  her  road.  Ellen  followed 
her  with  a  wondering  look  as  she  asked  herself,  "  What 
does  she  mean  ? " 

The  rain  gradually  lessened,  and  the  sun  gleamed 
out  for  a  minute  or  so.  Ellen  was  already  making 
ready  to  quit  her  shelter,  when  suddenly,  not  ten  steps 
from  the  oratory,  she  saw  Insaroff.  With  his  head 
buried  in  a  cloak,  he  was  going  along  the  same  road 
in  which  Ellen  was  bound.  He  was  apparently  hurry 
ing  homewards. 

Ellen  leaned  heavily  on  the  crazy  rails  of  the  well 
steps,  tried  to  call  out  his  name,  but  could  not  utter 
a  word.  Insaroff  had  already  passed  her  without  rais 
ing  his  head. 

"•  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch  !  "  at  last  she  found 
voice  to  cry  out. 

Insaroff  suddenly  stopped  and  looked  round.  For 
the  first  minute  he  did  not  recognize  Ellen,  but  quickly 
came  towards  her.  "  You  !  you  here  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  went  back,  without  saying  a  word,  into  the 
oratory,  and  Insaroff  followed  her.  "  You  here  !  "  he 
repeated. 

She  continued  silent,  and  only  looked  up  to  him 
with  a  long,  questioning,  loving  glance.  He  lowered 
his  eyes. 

"  You  have  come  from  our  house  ? "  she  asked 
him. 

"  No,  not  from  yours." 


On  the  Eve.  143 

"  No  ?  "  repeated  Ellen,  and  she  tried  to  smile. 

"  And  that  is  how  you  keep  your  promises ;  I  was 
waiting  for  you  all  the  morning." 

"  But,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  remember  I  made  no 
promise  yesterday." 

Ellen  again  smiled  faintly  as  she  stroked  her  fore 
head  with  her  hand.  Both  face  and  hand  were  deadly 
pale.  "Then,  you  meant  to  go  away  without  saying 
good-bye  to  us  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  replied  Insaroff,  in  a  dry,  low  tone. 

"  How  ?  After  our  friendship,  after  those  con 
fidences,  after  all  that  has  passed  !  And  so,  but  for 
my  having  happened  to  meet  you  here  " — Ellen's  voice 
trembled,  and  she  was  obliged  to  pause  for  a  mo 
ment — "you  would  have  gone  away  without  giving 
me  a  farewell  shake  of  the  hand,  and  not  been  sorry 
at  the  pain  you  caused  !  " 

Insaroff  turned  his  face  away.  "  Ellen  Nicholevna, 
I  pray  you,  do  not  speak  so.  I  have  trouble  enough 
without  that.  Believe  me,  it  was  no  easy  matter  to 
determine  to  leave  you  thus.  If  you  but  knew " 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know,"  interrupted  Ellen,  with 
almost  fright,  "  why  you  leave  us.  I  see  it  is  neces 
sary.  I  see  we  must  part.  You  would  not  grieve  your 
friends  unless  you  were  obliged.  But  should  friends 
part  in  such  a  way  ?  And  we  are  friends,  are  we  not  ?" 

"  Not  friends,"  said  Insaroff. 

"  How,  not  friends  ?  "  murmured  Ellen,  and  her 
cheeks  became  tinged  with  a  faint  blush. 


144  On  the  Eve. 

"  It  is  for  that  reason  I  go  away,  because  we  are 
not  friends.  But  do  not  force'me  to  say  what  I  do  not 
wish  to  say,  what  I  never  will  say." 

"  Once  you  were  frank  and  open  with  me,"  an 
swered  Ellen,  in  a  half-reproachful  tone.  "You  re 
member." 

"Then  I  could  be  open,  then  there  was  nothing  to 
conceal ;  but  now " 

"  But  now  ?  "  asked  Ellen. 

"  But  now — but  now  I  must  go.     So,  good-bye." 

Had  Insaroff  at  this  moment  raised  his  eyes,  he 
must  have  seen  that  Ellen's  face  became  paler  and 
paler  in  proportion  as  his  grew  gloomier  and  darker ; 
but  he  kept  them  obstinately  fixed  on  the  ground. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch,"  she 
began.  "  But  at  any  rate,  since  we  have  met,  give 
me  your  hand/' 

Insaroff  stretched  out  his  hand  "  No,  I  cannot," 
he  muttered,  and  hastily  drew  it  back. 

"  You  cannot  ?  " 

"  I  cannot.  Good-bye."  And  he  turned  round  to 
quit  the  oratory. 

"  Wait,  if  only  a  moment  longer,"  said  Ellen.  "  You 
are  afraid  of  me.  But  I  have  more  courage  than 
you,"  she  continued  ;  but  while  she  spoke  her  whole 
body  trembled.  "  I  can  tell  you — do  you  wish  it  ? — 
why  you  have  found  me  here.  Do  you  know  where  I 
was  going  ? " 

Insaroff  looked  at  Ellen  with  a  puzzled  glance. 


On  the  Eve.  145 

"  I  was  going  to  your  house." 

"  To  mine  !  " 

Ellen  hid  her  face  with  her  hands.  "  You  wished 
tc  force  me  to  say  I  love  you,"  she  whispered :  "  well, 
T  have  said  it !  " 

"  Ellen  !  "  cried  InsarofT. 

She  seized  his  outstretched  hands,  gazed  up  at 
him,  and  fell  upon  his  breast. 

With  a  passionate,  but  silent  embrace  he  held  her 
to  his  bosom.  He  had  no  need  to  tell  her  that  he 
loved  her.  That  one  exclamation  of  his,  the  sudden 
transformation  which  the  entire  man  had  undergone, 
the  agitated  heaving  of  that  breast  on  which  she  so 
confidingly  reposed,  the  caressing  play  of  his  fingers 
in  her  light-brown  hair,  told  Ellen  that  she  was  loved. 
He  did  not  say  so,  and  she  felt  no  need  of  words. 
"  He  is  here,  he  loves  me — what  more  do  I  want  ?  " 
The  rest  of  heavenly  peace  that  lends  to  death  itself 
a  beauty  and  a  rapture,  filled  her  soul.  She  wished 
for  nothing  now,  because  she  possessed  all.  "  Oh, 
my  brother,  friend,  and  darling  !  "  whispered  her  lips  ; 
and  she  scarce  knew  whose  heart  it  was,  whether  his 
or  hers  that  beat  so  softly  and  so  gently. 

But  he  stood  silent  and  motionless,  as  he  clasped 
to  his  bosom  with  a  firm,  strong  embrace,  this  young 
girl  who  had  given  her  life  into  his  keeping,  and 
pressed  to  his  breast  this  new  and  ever-precious 
charge ;  a  feeling  of  tenderness,  a  feeling  of  unde 
fined  thankfulness,  broke  through  his  selfish  pride, 
10 


146  On  the  Eve. 

and  tears,  such  as  he  had  never  shed  before,  filled  his 
eyes.  She,  however,  did  not  shed  a  tear ;  but  only 
murmured,  "  Oh,  my  brother !  Oh,  my  friend  !  " 

And  so  passed  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  still  em 
bracing  her  as  she  leaned  her  head  on  his  bosom. 
"  And  so,"  he  at  last  said,  "  you  will  go  with  me, 
wherever  my  fate  may  call  me  ?  " 

"  Anywhere  to  the  end  of  the  world :  where  thou 
art,  there  will  I  be." 

"And  you  do  not  deceive  yourself;  you  know, 
your  parents  will  never  consent  to  our  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  deceiving  myself;  I  know  it." 

"  You  know  that  I  am  poor,  a  mere  beggar  ?  " 

"  I  know  it." 

"  That  I  am  not  a  Russian,  that  I  never  can  live  in 
Russia,  that  you  will  have  to  break  all  the  ties  that 
bind  you  to  your  fatherland  and  to  your  family  ? " 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it." 

"  And  you  also  know  that  I  have  dedicated  my 
self  to  hard  and  thankless  work,  that  I — that  we  shall 
have  to  endure  not  merely  danger,  but  deprivation,  it 
may  be  even  ignominy  ?•" 

"I  know  it,  I  know  all — I  love  you." 

"That  you  must  give  up  all  your  habits  and  com 
forts  of  life ;  that  there,  alone,  among  strangers,  you 
may  be  compelled  to  work " 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  mouth.  "  I  love  you, 
my  darling !  "  ^ 

He   covered  her  small  fair  hand   with  warm   and 


On  the  Eve.  147 

passionate  kisses.  Ellen  did  not  seek  to  remove  her 
hand  from  his'lips,  but  with  a  kind  of  childish  glee 
and  innocent  curiosity  watched  him  devouring  her 
hand  and  fingers  with  burning  kisses. 

She  suddenly  grew  crimson-red,  and  hid  her  face 
on  his  bosom. 

Tenderly  he  raised  her  head,  and,  gazing  fixedly 
into  her  eyes,  cried  out,  "  Hail  to  thee,  my  wife,  be 
fore  God  and  the  people  !  " 


148  On  the  Eve. 

>, 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

JOYFUL     ASSURANCE. 

AN  hour  later,  and  Ellen,  with  her  straw  hat  in  one 
hand,  and  her  cloak  in  the  other,  quietly  entered 
the  drawing-room.  Her  hair  was  slightly  disordered, 
a  little  red  spot  was  burning  on  either  cheek,  a  smile 
was  playing  on  her  lips,  and  through  their  half-closed 
lids  could  be  seen  the  bright  gleaming  of  her  eyes. 
She  was  almost  dead  with  fatigue,  but  this  fatigue  was 
pleasant  to  her,  at*  that  moment  everything  was  pleas 
ant  and  delightful.  Everything  seemed  to  her  to  be 
kindly  and  delicious.  Urban  Ivanovitch  was  sitting 
by  the  window;  she  came  up  to  him,  put  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  and,  slightly  bending  over  him, 
smiled,  as  it  were  involuntarily. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  in  surprise. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say.  She  longeci  to  nug 
Urban  Ivanovitch,  and  to  give  him  a  good  kiss. 

"  Sprawling !  "  she  whispered  at  last. 

But  Urban  Ivanovitch  did  not  even  smile,  but  con 
tinued  to  regard  Ellen  with  a  look  of  astonishment. 
She  threw  over  him  her  cloak  and  hat. 

"  My  darling  Urban  Ivanovitch,"  she  went  on  to 


(JV 

gyyi 

On  the  Eve. 


s 
'•'  ^"*  fe  ^ 

1  19 


say,  "  I  want  to  sleep,  I  am  frightfully  tired.5* 

she  again  smiled,  and  sank  into  a  chair  that  stood 

beside  him. 

"  Ah  !  "  muttered  Urban  Ivanovitch,  and  began  to 
play  with  his  fingers  :  "  ah  !  well,  then  of  course  — 
yes,  certainly  !  " 

But  Ellen  in  the  meantime  glanced  around  her, 
and  thought  :  "  Soon  I  must  part  from  all  this,  and 
yet  strange  that  I  have  no  feeling  of  fear,  hesitation, 
or  regret  —  but  no  !  mamma  will  grieve  !  "  And  then 
once  more  she  saw  the  little  oratory,  once  more  she 
heard  his  voice,  once  more  she  felt  his  arms  encircle 
her.  Her  heart  beat  joyously,  but  weakly  ;  it  too  was 
wearied  and  exhausted.  She  thought  of  the  old 
beggar-woman.  "She  was  right,"  Ellen  thought  to 
herself;  "  she  divined  my  grief.  Oh,  how  happy  I 
am  !  what  undeserved  joy  !  and  how  soon  !  "  She 
felt  that  if  she  only  gave  way  to  her  emotion  for  a 
moment,  she  must  burst  into  tears.  She  could  only 
restrain  them  by  forcing  herself  to  smile.  Whatever 
position  she  assumed,  it  seemed  to  her  that  nothing 
could  be  better,  nothing  more  comfortable  ;  it  was  as 
if  she  were  lulled  by  some  cradle-song.  Her  move 
ments  were  now  measured  and  slow,  her  former  rest 
lessness  and  nervous  activity  had  disappeared.  Zoe 
came  in  ;  Ellen  decided  that  she  had  never  seen  a 
more  pleasing  face.  Anne  Vasilievna  soon  after 
wards  came  in  ;  Ellen  felt  a  choking  in  the  throat, 
but  rose  up  and  tenderly  embraced  her  good  mother, 


150  On   the  Eve. 

kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and  softly  stroked  her 
hair,  which  was  already  fast  getting  grey.  She  then 
went  to  her  own  room,  and  how  cheerful  everything 
looked  there  !  With  what  a  feeling  of  modest  triumph 
and  contentment  did  she  sit  down  on  her  bed, — that 
same  bed  on  which,  but  three  short  hours  ago,  she 
had  writhed  in  such  agony  and  despair  !  "  But  even 
then  I  knew  that  he  loved  me,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  and  long  before  then.  '  Hail  to  thee,  my  wife  ' !  " 
she  murmuringly  repeated,  as,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands  she  fell  on  her  knees. 

Towards  evening  she  became  more  thoughtful. 
She  was  filled  with  sorrow  at  the  thought  that  it  must 
be  long  before  she  could  see  Insaroff  again.  He  could 
not,  without  exciting  suspicion,  remain  with  Bersieneff, 
and  for  this  reason  he  had  arranged  with  Ellen  that 
he  should  at  once  leave  for  Moscow,  but  come  to  see 
her  t\vo  or  three  times  during  the  autumn.  She,  for 
her  part,  had  promised  to  write  to  him,  and  if  possible 
find  the  opportunity  of  occasionally  meeting  him  in 
the  neighborhood  -of  Koontsoff.  She  came  down 
stairs  to  tea,  and  found  the  whole  family  assembled, 
together  with  Shoubine,  who  looked  up  meaningly  as 
she  entered.  She  wished  to  speak  with  him  in  their 
old  friendly  manner,  but  feared  lest  he  should  dis 
cover  her  secret,  and  feared  still  more  lest  she  should 
betray  it  herself.  She  felt  that  it  was  not  without  a 
reason  that  he  had  left  her  for  two  weeks  in  peace. 
Shortly  afterwards  Bersieneff  called,  with  InsarofPs 


On  the  Eve.  151 

compliments  to  Anne  Vasilievna,  and  excuses  for 
having  left  for  Moscow  without  coming  himself  to  say 
good-bye.  It  was  the  first  time  since  their  interview 
that  the  name  of  Insaroff  had  been  pronounced  in 
Ellen's  presence ;  she  felt  that  she  blushed ;  at  the 
same  time  she  understood  that  it  was  only  proper  she 
should  express  regret  at  the  sudden  departure  ;  but 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  say  a  word,  and  sat 
motionless  and  silent.  She  tried  to  keep  close  to 
Bersieneff;  for  she  did  not  fear  him,  though  he  in 
part  knew  hei  secret;  but  she  felt  that  he  was  a  pro 
tection  to  her  from  Shoubine,  who  all  the  while  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  watching  and  noting  her  every 
moment.  Bersieneff  too  felt  puzzled  that  evening: 
he  had  expected  to  see  Ellen  much  more  cast  down 
than  she  appeared  to  be.  Fortunately  for  her,  a  dis 
cussion  about  some  question  of  art  was  started  be 
tween  Bersieneff  and  Shoubine;  she  drew  a  little 
aside,  and  only  heard  their  voices  as  it  were  in  a 
dream.  Little  by  little,  not  only  they,  but  the  whole 
room,  and  all  that  were  in  it,  seemed  to  her  but  as  a 
dream — everything,  the  tea-urn  on  the  table,  Urban 
Ivanovitch's  short  waistcoat,  Zoe's  little  feet,  and  the 
oil  portrait  of  Prince  Constantine  that  hung  on  the 
wall — everything  grew  indistinct,  became  covered 
with  a  cloud,  ceased  to  exist.  She  experienced  a 
kind  of  pity  for  them  all.  "  For  what  do  they  live  ? " 
she  asked  herself. 


152  On  the  Eve. 

"  You  are  sleepy,  Nell,"  exclaimed  her  mother ; 
but  Ellen  did  not  hear  her  words. 

"A  suspicion  that  is  altogether  well  founded,  you 
say  ? "  Those  words,  spoken  in  a  sharp  tone  by 
Shoubine,  were  the  first  that  aroused  Ellen  from  her 
meditations.  "Granted,"  he  continued ;  "but  do 
not  forget  that  is  the  very  criterion  of  true  art.  A 
suspicion  that  is  entirely  just  will  fall  dead  ;  the  most 
criminal  will  bear  it  with  calm  indifference ;  but  if 
only  half  true,  it  will  be  more  than  he  can  bear,  it 
will  vex  him  and  make  him  impatient.  For  instance, 
if  I  say  that  Ellen  Nicholaevna  is  in  love  with  one  of 
as  here,  what  sort  of  suspicion  is  that,  pray  ? " 

"Let  me  tell  you,  Monsieur  Paul,"  interrupted 
Ellen,  "  I  should  very  much  like  to  prove  to  you  that 
I  am  vexed  with  you,  but  I  am  really  too  tired." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  bed  ? "  muttered  Anne 
Vasilievna,  who  herself  liked  to  doze  of  an  evening, 
and  was  consequently  always  ready  to  send  others  off 
to  bed.  "  Say  good  night,  and  God  bless  you.  I  am 
sure  Andrew  Petrovitch  will  excuse  you." 

Ellen  kissed  her  mother,  and  with  a  slight  curtsey 
to  the  rest  left  the  room.  Shoubine  followed  her  to 
the  door.  "  Ellen  Nicholaevna,"  he  whispered  to  her 
on  the  threshold,  "  you  delight  in  crushing  Monsieur 
Paul,  you  trample  on  him  without  pity,  but  Monsieur 
Paul  worships  you,  worships  your  feet,  and  the  shoes 
on  your  feet,  worships  the  very  soles  of  your  shoes." 

Ellen   shrugged  her   shoulders,  reluctantly   gave 


On  the  Eve.  153 

him  her  hand — not  the  one  Insaroff  had  kissed — 
and,  withdrawing  to  her  room,  at  once  undressed,  lay 
down,  and  fell  fast  asleep.  Her  sleep  was  sound  and 
unbroken  as  the  sleep  of  a  child, — a  slumber  such  as 
we  can  only  enjoy  in  our  infancy,  whilst  our  mother 
sits  by  the  cradle,  watches  over  us,  and  listens  to  our 
breathing. 


154  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

GENTLEMANLY    REVENGE. 

to  my  room  for  a  minute,"  Shoubine  said 
to  Bersieneff  as  soon  as  they  had  taken  leave 
of  Anne  Vasilievna  :  "  I  have  something  to  show  you." 

Bersieneff  accompanied  his  friend.  He  was 
struck  with  the  number  of  studies,  statues,  and  busts, 
all  covered  with  wet  towels,  which  were  arranged  in 
all  the  corners  of  the  room. 

"  I  see  you  are  working  in  earnest,"  he  observed 
to  Shoubine. 

"  One  must  do  something,"  replied  the  latter.  "  If 
you  don't  succeed  in  one  thing,  try  another.  Besides, 
I  am  a  Corsican,  and  go  in  rather  for  the  Vendetta 
dodge  than  for  true  art.  Trema,  Bisanzia  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Bersieneff. 

"Well,  wait  an  instant.  Now,  please  to  look 
around,  my  dear  friend  and  critic ;  this  is  revenge 
number  one." 

Shoubine  uncovered  one  of  the  figures,  and  Ber 
sieneff  recognized  in  it  a  bust  of  Insaroff,  marvellous 
for  its  exact  resemblance.  The  features  were  In 
saroff 's,  exact  to  the  minutest  detail,  the  expression 


On  the  Eve.  155 

was  admirably  given  in  all  its  winningness,  nobility, 
and  daring.  Bersieneff  was  enthusiastic  in  his  praise 
of  it. 

"  It  is  admirable  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  congratu 
late  you  heartily  on  your  success.  You  ought  to  send 
it  to  the  Exhibition.  But  why  do  you  call  this  mag 
nificent  production  revenge  number  one  ?  " 

"  Because,  sir,  I  intend  to  present  this  magnificent 
production,  as  you  are  pleased  to  style  it,  to  Ellen 
Nicholaevna  on  her  birth-day.  Do  you  understand 
the  allegory  ?  We  are  not  blind,  we  can  see  what  is 
going  on  under  our  very  noses  ;  but  we  are  gentlemen 
my  good  sir,  and  our  revenge  shall  be  gentlemanly  too. 

"  And  here,"  continued  Shoubine  as  he  uncovered 
another  figure,  "  since  artists,  according  to  the  newest 
aesthetical  canons,  enjoy  the  enviable  right  of  incar 
nating  any  horror,  provided  they  only  idealize  it  suffi 
ciently,  so  we,  in  the  production  of  this  ideal,  have 
taken  our  revenge  number  two,  though  no  longer  as 
gentlemen,  but  simply,  en  canaille" 

Whilst  thus  declaiming,  he  dexterously  whipped 
off  the  covering,  and  exposed  to  Bersieneff 's  view  a 
statuette  of  the  same  Insaroff,  but  in  the  Dantesque 
style.  It  were  impossible  to  imagine  anything  more 
devilish  and  cunning.  The  young  Bulgarian  was  rep 
resented  as  a  goat,  his  hind-legs  slightly  extended  and 
his  head  bent  down  ready  to  butt.  The  stupid  air  of 
importance,  the  brutal  anger,  obstinacy,  and  awkward 
ness  of  the  animal,  combined  with  the  striking  like- 


156  On  the  Eve. 

ness  of  the  features,  rendered  it  impossible  for  Ber- 
sieneff  not  to  laugh  at  the  grotesqueness  of  the  figure 
before  him. 

"  What  ?  you  find  it  droll  ?  "  continued  Shoubine  : 
"  did  you  recognize  the  hero  ?  Do  you  advise  me  to 
send  this  also  to  the  Exhibition  ?  This,  my  dear 
friend,  I  intend  as  a  present  to  myself  on  my  own 
birth-day.  I  lowly  bend  my  knee  in  homage  before 
your  imperial  greatness !  "  And  Shoubine  bent  his 
knee  three  times,  each  time  touching  the  ground  with 
his  forehead. 

Bersieneff  took  the  cloth  from  the  floor,  and  threw 
it  over  the  statuette. 

"  Yes,  you  are  magnanimous,"  Shoubine  exclaim 
ed  ;  "  in  history  you  will  be  known  as  Andrew  the 
Magnanimous  !  But  it  is  all  the  same.  And  now," 
he  continued  as  with  mock  solemnity  he  proceeded 
to  uncover  a  third  statuette,  "  you  will  see  something 
to  convince  you  of  your  friend's  humility  and  sagacity. 
In  this  you  have  a  proof  that  he,  like  all  genuine  artists, 
feels  the  need  and  the  blessing  of  being  buffeted. 
Behold ! " 

The  cloth  was  removed,  and  Bersieneff  could  see 
two  heads  in  a  line,  and  almost  touching  one  another. 
He  did  not  at  once  guess  for  whom  they  were  intend 
ed,  but  upon  looking  more  attentively  recognized  in 
one  of  them  the  features  of  Annette;  in  the  other, 
Shoubine  himself.  They  were,  indeed,  caricatures 
rather  than  portraits.  Annette  was  represented  as  a 


On  the  Eve.  157 

pretty,  stoutish  girl,  with  a  low  forehead,  watery  eyes, 
and  a  turned-up  nose.  There  was  a  smile  of  effront 
ery  on  her  thick  lips,  and  her  whole  face  wore  an  ex 
pression  of  self-assurance,  sauciness,  and  cold-heart- 
edness.  Shoubine  was  represented  as  a  used-up, 
worn-out,  fast-liver,  with  sunken  cheeks,  with  thinish 
locks  of  grey  hair,  hollow  expressionless  eyes,  and  the 
sharp-pointed  nose  of  a  corpse. 

Bersieneff  turned  away  in  disgust. 

"  A  loving  pair,  are  they  not  ?  "  asked  Shoubine. 
"  And  what  do  you  think  of  ray  inscriptions  for  them  ? 
I  have  already  hit  on  a  title  for  the  first  two.  Under 
the  bust  I  shall  write, '  The  Hero  resolving  to  save  his 
country  ; '  under  the  statuette, '  Look  out,  my  German 
Friends  !  '  and  for  the  third,  what  clo  you  say  to  '  The 
fate  of  the  illustrious  artist,  Paul  Jakovlevitch  Shou 
bine  ? ' " 

"  Stop  that !  "  interrupted  Bersieneff.  "  Was  it 
worth  your  while  to  waste  your  time  on  such — "  he 
hesitated,  as  if  searching  for  a  word. 

"  Disgusting  abortions,  you  wish  to  say.  No,  my 
friend,  you  must  not  be  so  prudish ;  you  will  find 
plenty  such  groups  in  our  modern  exhibitions." 

"  They  are  exactly  so — disgusting,"  continued  Ber 
sieneff.  "  And  what  does  this  folly  mean  !  You  have 
none  of  those  tendencies  towards  the  nasty,  which 
unfortunately,  so  many  of  our  artists  in  the  present 
day  exhibit.  You  are  merely  doing  injustice  to  your 
talents." 


158  On  the  Eve. 

"  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  "  sulkily  rejoined  Shou- 
bine.  "  And  if  I  haven't  them,  but  they  are  beginning 
to  grow  upon  me,  who  is  to  blame  ?  One  person,  and 
only  one.  Do  you  know,"  he  continued,  knitting  his 
brows  in  a  tragical  manner,  "  I  tried  what  drink  would 
do?" 

"  Nonsense ! " 

"  I  did,  word  of  honor ;  but  it  left  a  nasty  taste  in 
the  mouth,  couldn't  get  it  to  go  down  the  throat  easily, 
and  had  a  splitting  headache  for  my  pains.  The 
great  Loustchichin  himself — Charlampius  Loustchich- 
in,  the  first  of  Moscow  artists,  though  for  the  rest  a 
thorough  Russian  bear — told  me  that  I  had  better 
give  it  up,  as  I  was  not  one  of  the  sort  to  be  inspired 
by  drink." 

Bersieneff  raised  his  hand  threateningly  to  the 
group,  but  Shoubine  prevented  him. 

"  Hold  on,  my  boy,  don't  destroy  it.  It  is  a  good 
lesson,  it  is  a  kind  of  scarecrow." 

"In  that  case,"  Bersieneff  said, laughing,  "I  con 
sent  to  let  the  scarecrow  remain :  but  now,  give  your 
homage  to  the  eternal  and  the  true  in  art." 

"  Homage  to  the  true  in  art,"  echoed  Shoubine. 
"  To  succeed  in  it,  is  well ;  to  fail  in  it,  is  no  dis 
honor." 

The  two  friends  shook  each  other  warmly  by  the 
hand,  and  separated. 


On  the  Eve.  159 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

REACTIONARY     FEELING. 

THERE  was  a  gladness  mingled  with  fear  in 
Ellen's  first  waking  thoughts  on  the  next  morn 
ing.  "  Is  it  true  ;  is  it  true  ?"  she  kept  asking  her 
self,  and  her  heart  overflowed  with  joy.  Recol 
lections  crowded  upon  her,  and  she  was  lost  and  per 
plexed  in  them.  And  then,  once  more,  a  happy, 
rapturous  feeling  of  peace  came  over  her.  But  in 
the  course  of  the  day  Ellen  grew  more  and  more 
restless,  and  on  the  morrow  was  weary  and  depresse  d. 
True,  she  knew  now  what  she  had  so  longed  to 
know,  but  the  conviction  that  she  was  loved  did 
not  give  her  ease.  That  never-to-be-forgotten  inter 
view  had  taken  her  out  from  the  old  world  ;  she  no 
longer  lived  in  it,  she  was  far  removed  from  it,  and 
yet  all  the  while  everything  around  her  remained  the 
same,  everything  went  on  according  to  the  regular 
routine,  as  though  no  change  had  taken  place  in  her, 
and  Ellen  was  expected  to  take  her  wonted  part  and 
share  in  the  daily  business  and  trifles  of  household 
life.  She  tried  to  write  a  letter  to  InsarorT,  but  was 
unable ;  the  words  she  scrawled  on  the  paper  seemed 


160  On  the  Eve. 

to  have  no  meaning,  to  be  neither  dead  nor  alive. 
She  put  away  her  journal,  having  first  drawn  under 
its  last  entry  a  thick  black  line.  All  that  was  past ; 
and  she  in  her  thoughts,  in  her  whole  being,  only  lived 
now  in  the  future.  She  could  not  interest  herself  in 
what  was  passing  around  her.  To  sit  with  her  moth 
er,  who  suspected  nothing,  to  listen  to  her  idle  chat, 
to  answer  her  endless  questions,  to  talk  with  her, 
seemed  to  Ellen  almost  a  crime;  she  felt  that  she 
was  acting  the  part  of  a  hypocrite ;  her  conscience 
was  troubled,  though  she  knew  she  had  no  cause  to 
blush  ;  and  more  than  once  she  was  tempted  with  an 
almost  irresistible  desire  to  reveal  all,  let  the  conse 
quences  be  what  they  might.  "  Why,"  she  thought 
to  herself,  "  why  did  not  Demetrius  then  and  there, 
in  the  oratory,  bid  me  follow  him  ?  Did  he  not  de 
clare  before  God  I  was  his  wife  ?  Why  then,  am  I 
here  ?"  For  the  first  time  she  began  to  avoid  the 
others,  even  Urban  Ivanovitch,  who  was  much  more 
thoughtful  than  usual,  and  was  constantly  playing 
with  his  fingers.  They  no  longer  seemed  to  her  to 
be  kindly  or  caressing;  like  some  nightmare,  they 
weighed  upon  her  as  a  dead  and  heavy  burden  ;  they 
appeared  to  reproach  her,  to  upbraid  her,  to  be  un 
willing  to  acknowledge  her  as  one  of  their  own. 
Even  her  pets,  abandoned  nestlings  and  homeless 
animals,  looked  at  her — at  least,  so  she  fancied — sus 
piciously  and  with  unfriendly  glances.  She  began  to 
be  ashamed  of  herself  for  entertaining  such  ideas. 


On  the  Eve.  161 

"  This  is  my  home,"  she  murmured,  "  my  family,  my 
country."  "  No,  this  is  no  longer  thy  home  or  thy 
country,"  answered  another  voice.  Fear  took  pos 
session  of  her ;  and  again  she  reproached  herself 
for  her  lack  of  courage.  The  struggle  had  only  just 
begun,  and  she  had  already  lost  the  power  to  endure. 
Was  this  the  fulfilment  of  her  promise  ? 

It  was  only  gradually  that  she  mastered  her 
fears  :  one  week  passed  after  another,  and  Ellen  little 
by  little  grew  more  composed  and  more  habituated 
to  her  new  position.  She  wrote  two  short  notes  to 
Insaroff,  and  took  them  herself  to  the  post ;  partly 
from  pride,  and  partly  from  shame,  she  was  unwilling 
to  trust  them  to  the  care  of  a  servant.  She  was 
already  expecting  his  arrival.  But,  one  morning, 
there  arrived — not  Insaroff,  but  Nicholas  Artemvitch. 
ii 


1 62  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE     NEW     BRIDEGROOM. 

NO  one  in  the  house  could  remember  ever  to  have 
seen  Lieutenant  Stachoff  so  severe,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  self-important  and  pompous,  as  he  was 
that  day.  He  marched  into  the  sitting-room  in  his 
paletot  and  cap  with  slow,  measured  steps,  his  sword 
jingling  noisily  as  he  walked  ;  stalked  up  to  the  look 
ing-glass,  took  a  long  view  of  his  handsome  self,  as 
he  complacently  nodded  his  head  and  stroked  his 
moustache.  Anne  Vasilievna  welcomed  him  in  her 
usual  fussy  manner ;  but  he  did  not  take  off  his  cap, 
or  address  a  word  to  her,  but  silently  gave  Ellen  his 
gloved  hand  to  kiss.  Anne  Vasilievna  began  to  ques 
tion  him  about  his  cure ;  he  gave  her  no  answer. 
Urban  Ivanovitch  entered  the  room  ;  he  merely  look 
ed  at  him,  and  exclaimed,  "  Bah !  "  With  Urban 
Ivanovitch  he  was  generally  cold  and  grand,  though 
he  acknowledged  him  to  be  "  of  the  pure  Stachoff 
race."  It  is  well  known  that  nearly  every  Russian 
noble  family  prides  itself  on  its  exclusive  and  partic 
ular  possession  of  some  special  physical  quality, 
granted  by  a  merciful  Providence  to  them,  and  them 


On  the  Eve.  163 

alone.  Thus,  you  will  hear  them  talk  among  them 
selves  of  the  "  Podsalackinsky  "  nose  or  of  the  "  Pere- 
prievsky  "  neck.  Zoe  next  came  in,  and  made  a  low 
curtsey  to  Nicholas  Artemvitch.  He  gave  a  grunt, 
sank  into  an  arm-chair,  ordered  coffee  to  be  brought 
to  him,  and  only  then  took  off  his  cap.  The  coffee 
was  served,  and  when  he  had  drank  it,  addressing 
them  each  in  order,  he  grunted  through  his  teeth, 
"  Sortez  s'il  vous  plait :  "  but  turning  to  his  wife,  add 
ed,  "  Et  vous,  madame,  restez,je  vous  prie" 

All  left  the  room,  except  Anne  Vasilievna.  She 
was  trembling  with  excitement.  The  solemn  man 
ners  of  Nicholas  Artemvitch  alarmed  her.  Evidently 
something  terrible  had  happened. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  exclaimed  almost  before  the 
door  was  closed. 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  looked  at  her  with  a  dignified 
and  stately  glance.  "  Nothing  extraordinary,  that  you 
should  at  once  put  on  the  appearance  of  a  martyr  at 
the  stake,"  he  began,  quite  unnecessarily  wrinkling 
the  corners  of  his  lips  at  each  word :  "  I  only  wished 
to  inform  you  that  to-day  we  shall  have  a  new  ac 
quaintance  to  dinner." 

"  Who  ? " 

"  Gregory  Andreevitch  Cournatovsky.  You  do 
not  know  him.  First  secretary  in  the  Senate." 

"  He  will  dine  with  us  to-day  ? " 

"  Yes." 


164  On  the  Eve. 

"And  it  was  only  to  tell  me  this  that  you  ordered 
the  others  to  leave  the  room  ?  " 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  again  looked  at  his  wife,  but 
this  time  with  a  lofty  ironical  glance.  "That  sur 
prises  you  ?  You  can  keep  surprised." 

He  said  no  more,  and  for  awhile  Anne  Vasilievna 
too  remained  silent. 

"  I  should  wish — "  she  began. 

"  I  know,"  he  muttered,  "you  have  always  regard 
ed  me  as  an  immoral  man. 

"  I !  "  cried  Anne  Vasilievna,  in  a  frightened  tone. 

"  And  perhaps,  with  justice.  I  do  not  wish  to 
deny  that  at  times  I  have  given  you  just  cause  for  dis 
satisfaction — (the  grey  horses,  thought  Anne  Vasil 
ievna) — though  you  yourself  must  allow  that  with  your 
health  and  sickly  constitution " 

"I  have  never  in  any  way  accused  you,  Nicholas 
Artemvitch." 

"  Oest  possible.  In  any  case  I  am  not  disposed  to 
justify  myself.  I  leave  that  to  time.  But  I  consider 
it  my  duty  to  assure  you  that  I  know  what  my  obliga 
tions  are,  and  am  able  to  protect  zealously  the  inter 
ests  of — of — of — a  family  that  reposes — reposes  con 
fidence  in  me." 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  Anne  Vasilievna 
asked  herself.  She  could  not  know  that  only  the  eve 
ning  before  there  had  been  a  discussion  among  some 
of  the  members  of  the  English  Club  as  to  the  inca 
pacity  of  a  Russian  to  make  a  speech.  "  Who  amongst 


On  the  Eve.  165 

us  is  there  that  can  speak  ?  Just  point  out  one  if  you 
can,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  disputants.  "  Well,  there 
is  Stachoff,  for  example,"  answered  the  other,  as  he 
pointed  to  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  who  was  standing 
close  by,  swelling  and  puffing  with  pride  at  being  thus 
singled  out. 

"  For  instance,"  continued  Nicholas  Artemvitch, 
"there  is  my  daughter  Ellen.  Do  you  not  find  it 
time  that  she  should  at  length  take  that  serious  step 
in  the  path — that  she  should  marry,  I  mean.  All  that 
philosophy  and  all  that  philanthropy  of  hers  is  very 
well,  but  only  to  a  certain  degree,  only  up  to  a  certain 
age.  It  is  full  time  that  she  should  give  over  dream 
ing,  take  pleasure  in  the  society  of  others  than  artists, 
writers,  and  Montenegrians,  and  live  like  the  rest  of 
the  world." 

"  May  I  ask  in  what  sense  I  am  to  understand 
your  words  ?  "  inquired  Anne  Vasilievna. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  give  me  your  attention  for  a 
few  minutes,"  replied  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  still  keep 
ing  up  his  oratorical  pose,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  sim 
ply,  and  without  any  further  digressions.  I  have  made 
acquaintance,  I  have  formed  a  friendship,  with  this 
young  man,  Mr.  Cournatovsky,  in  the  hope  of  his 
becoming  my  son-in-law.  I  venture  to  believe  that 
when  you  see  him  for  yourself,  you  will  not  accuse 
me  of  having  formed  a  partial  or  hasty  judgment." 
(Nicholas  Artemvitch  was  a  great  admirer  of  his  own 
powers  of  eloquence.)  "  He  is  highly  cultivated,  was 


1 66  On  the  Eve. 

educated  to  the  law,  his  manners  are  irreproachable, 
he  is  only  thirty-three,  is  first  secretary,  is  a  college 
accessor,  and  has  a  Stanislaus  on  his  neck.*  I  hope 
you  will  do  me  the  justice  not  to  reckon  me  among 
the  number  of  those  peres  de  comedie  who  dream  only 
of  ranks  and  orders  ;  but  you  yourself  have  told  me 
that  Ellen  Nicholaevna  will  tolerate  none  but  men  of 
business,  men  who  are  actively  engaged.  Gregory 
Andreevitch  is  the  first  in  his  profession.  Then, 
again,  my  daughter  has  a  weakness  for  magnanimous 
actions.  Well,  you  must  know  that  Gregory  Andree 
vitch,  as  soon  as  it  is  possible  for  him  to  do  so — you 
understand  me — as  soon  as  he  is  in  such  a  position 
that  he  can  live  becomingly  on  his  salary,  he  will  re 
nounce  in  favor  of  his  brothers  his  share  of  the 
allowance  assigned  to  them  by  their  father." 

"  And  who  is  his  father  ?"  asked  Anne  Vasilievna. 

"  His  father  ?"  answered  Nicholas  Artemvitch  : 
"  his  father  is  also  in  his  way  a  remarkable  man, 
moral  to  the  highest  degree,  un  vrai  stoicien  ;  a  major 
on  half-pay,  I  believe ;  manages  the  whole  of  Count 
B 's  property." 

*  The  civil  employees  under  the  Russian  Government,  as  well 
as  those  in  military  service,  are  divided  into  fourteen  ranks,  or 
classes.  A  college  accessor  corresponds  to  a  major  in  the  army. 
The  cross  of  St.  Stanislaus  is  one  of  the  numerous  orders  given 
by  the  crown  to  those  in  its  service.  Only  the  higher  orders  are 
worn  round  the  neck ;  the  inferior  ones  are  attached  to  the  up 
per  button-hole  of  the  coat. 


On  the  Eve.  167 

"  Ah  !"  muttered  Anne  Vasilievna. 

"Ah  !  what  does  '  Ah  !'  mean,"  exclaimed  Nicho 
las  Artemvitch.  "  Can  it  be  that  you  are  the  slave 
of  prejudices  ?" 

"  I  said  nothing,"  timidly  replied  Anne  Vasil 
ievna. 

"  Yes,  you  did  :  you  said,  Ah  !  However,  I  have 
thought  it  my  duty  to  advise  you  of  my  opinion  on 
the  matter,  and  I  venture  to  believe — I  venture  to 
hope — that  Mr.  Cournatovsky  will  be  received  a  bras 
ouverts.  He  is  no  Montenegrian." 

"  Of  course  he  will  :  but  we  must  call  John,  and 
tell  him  to  prepare  an  extra  dish." 

"  You  know,  I  never  concern  myself  with  such  do 
mestic  details,"  replied  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  as  he 
got  up,  put  on  his  hat,  and  whistling  as  he  went,  turn 
ed  into  the  garden  for  a  stroll.  Some  one  had  once 
told  him  that  it  was  only  proper  to  whistle  when  at 
home,  in  the  country,  or  in  the  stables. 

At  ten  minutes  to  four  a  hired  carriage  drove  into 
the  Stachoffs'  courtyard,  and  a  young  man,  of  pleas 
ing  exterior,  and  plainly  but  well  dressed,  got  out. 
He  announced  himself  as  Gregory  Andreevitch  Cour 
natovsky. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  which 
Ellen  wrote  the  next  day  to  Insaroff : — 

"  Congratulate  your  little  wife,  my  dear  Demetrius,  on  her  new 
fiance.  He  dined  with  us  yesterday  :  it  seems,  papa  became  ac 
quainted  with  him  at  the  English  Club,  and  invited  him  here. 


1 68  On  the  Eve. 

Of  course,  you  understand  he  was  not  already  my  fiance  when 
he  arrived.  But  good  mamma,  whom  papa  had  already  informed 
of  his  wishes,  whispered  in  my  ear  who  our  new  guest  was.  His 
name  is  Gregory  Andreevitch  Cournatovsky,  and  he  serves  as 
first  secretary  in  the  senate.  First  of  all,  I  must  describe  to  you 
his  outward  appearance.  He  is  of  medium  height,  not  so  tall 
as  you,  and  well  formed;  his  features  are  regular,  his  hair  is  cut 
close,  and  he  wears  large  whiskers.  His  eyes  are  small,  like 
yours,  brownish  in  color,  and  piercing ;  he  has  flat,  broad  lips ; 
there  is  a  perpetual  smile  playing  in  his  eyes  and  on  his  lips,  a 
kind  of  official  smile,  which  tells  you  at  once  that  he  is  in  gov 
ernment  service.  His  manners  are  very  simple;  he  speaks  pre 
cisely — everything  he  does  is  precise ;  he  walks,  laughs,  eats, 
does  everything  in  the  same  precise  way.  '  How  closely  she  has 
observed  him  !'  you  are  most  probably  thinking  at  this  moment. 
Yes  :  that  I  might  be  able  to  describe  him  to  you.  And  besides, 
who  would  not  observe  her  fiance  with  the  greatest  of  atten 
tion  ?  There  is  something  stern  about  him,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
something  dull  and  empty  ;  and  he  seems  honorable — they  say, 
in  fact,  that  he  is  very  honorable.  You,  too,  appear  to  me  to  be 
stern,  but  it  is  a  different  kind  of  sternness.  He  sat  next  to  me 
at  the  table,  Shoubine  being  opposite  to  us.  In  the  beginning, 
the  conversation  turned  on  some  commercial  undertakings ;  they 
say  he  is  well  versed  in  business  affairs,  and  all  but  threw  up  his 
government  place  to  become  manager  of  a  large  manufactory. 
To  look  at  him,  one  would  never  imagine  it !  Then  Shoubine 
began  to  talk  of  the  theatre  ;  Mr.  Cournatovsky  gave  his  opinions, 
and  without  any  false  modesty,  I  must  confess, — proved  that  he 
knew  nothing  about  art.  It  made  me  think  of  you ;  but  I 
thought,  '  No  !  Demetrius  and  I,  we  understand  art  in  quite  a 
different  way.'  He  did  not  say  so,  but  you  could  see  he  meant, 
*  I  do  not  understand  art,  and  indeed  it  is  not  necessary,  though 
in  a  well-constituted  empire  art  may  be  allowed  its  place.'  He 
is,  however,  sufficiently  indifferent  as  to  the  charms  of  St. 


On  the  Eve.  169 

Petersburg,  and  to  all  that  is  comme  il  faut ;  he  once  even  called 
himself  a  proletariat.  '  We,'  he  said,  '  are  workmen.'  I  thought, 
'  If  Demetrius  had  said  that,  I  should  have  been  vexed ;  but  he 
may  say  what  he  likes,  and  let  him  boast  as  much  as  he  chooses. 
With  me  he  was  very  polite ;  but  yet  I  fancied  he  talked  with 
me  like  a  superior  who  wished  to  be  condescending.  Whenever 
he  wishes  to  praise  any  one,  he  says,  that  so-and-so  has  a  prin 
ciple  :  that  is  his  favorite  phrase.  I  am  sure  he  is  very  self-satis 
fied,  industrious,  capable  of  making  a  sacrifice — you  see,  I  am 
impartial — that  is,  of  sacrificing  his  own  interests ;  but  he  is  a 
great  despot.  Woe  betide  the  man  or  woman  who  falls  into  his 
hands  !  During  dinner  we  spoke  of  bribing.  '  I  grant,'  he  said, 
'  that  in  many  cases  the  man  who  takes  a  bribe  is  perfectly  inno 
cent.  It  is  impossible  for  him  to  act  otherwise.  But  if  he  is 
discovered,  he  ought  to  be  severely  punished.'  '  Punish  an  in 
nocent  man  !'  I  cried  out.  '  Yes,  for  the  principle's  sake.'  '  What 
principle  ?'  asked  Shoubine.  Cournatovsky  was  not  at  all  put 
out  or  confused  by  the  question,  but  simply  said,  '  That  is  self- 
evident.'  Papa,  who  is  apparently  a  worshipper  of  his,  echoed 
his  words,  '  That  is  self-evident,'  and,  to  my  regret,  the  subject 
dropped.  In  the  evening  Bersieneff  came  and  got  into  a  hot 
dispute  with  him.  I  have  never  seen  our  good  Andrew  Petrovitch 
so  excited.  Mr.  Cournatovsky  did  not  in  any  way  deny  the  advan 
tages  of  a  scientific  training,  of  a  university  course,  and  so  on, 
but  yet  I  could  well  understand  why  Andrew  Petrovitch  was  so 
angry.  He  looks  upon  all  this  as  a  kind  of  gymnastics.  After 
dinner  Shoubine  came  up  to  me,  and  said,  '  Both  he  and  the 
other — he  never  mentions  you  by  your  name — are  practical  men, 
but  what  a  difference  there  is  between  them  !  the  one  has  before 
him  a  living,  genuine,  ennobling  ideal ;  the  other,  without  any 
feeling  of  duty,  a  mere  red-tapist,  with  no  higher  idea  of  honor 
than  what  the  administration  exacts.'  Shoubine  is  right,  and  I 
give  you  his  opinion ;  but,  to  my  mind,  the  real  difference  con 
sists  in  this  :  you  believe,  and  he  does  not,  since  he  is  only  able 


170  On  the  Eve. 

to  believe  in  himself.  It  was  late  before  he  left  us,  but  not  too  late 
for  mamma  to  assure  me  that  I  pleased  him,  and  that  papa  was 
in  raptures.  He  actually  condescended  to  say  of  me,  that  I  was 
evidently  a  well-principled  girl.  I  was  very  nearly  telling  mam 
ma  that  I  was  sorry  to  disappoint  them  all,  but  that  I  had 
already  a  husband.  Why  is  it  that  papa  dislikes  you  so  much  ? 
With  mamma  things  might  yet  be  managed.  Oh,  my  darling  ! 
I  have  given  you  this  minute  description  of  our  new  guest  only 
if  possible,  to  stifle  my  unrest.  Without  you  life  is  no  life  ;  not 
a  moment  but  I  see  you,  and  hear  your  voice.  I  expect  you, 
only  do  not  come  to  our  house,  as  we  first  intended  ;  it  would 
only  be  unpleasant  and  awkward  for  both  of  us  :  but  you  know 
where  I  wrote  to  you — in  the  arbor.  Oh,  my  darling  1  How  I 
love  you  !  " 


On  the  Eve.  171 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AN    UNEXPECTED    VISITOR. 

IN  the  third  week  after  Cournatovsky's  first  visit, 
to  Ellen's  great  delight,  Anne  Vasilievna  removed 
to  Moscow,  taking  up  her  winter  quarters  in  her  large 
wooden  house,  near  Pretchiskenky  Square, — a  house 
with  plaster  columns,  a  white  plaster  wreath  and  lyre 
under  each  window,  a  wing  for  the  servants1  rooms, 
a  garden  at  the  back,  a  large  courtyard  in  the  front, 
having  a  fountain  in  the  middle,  and  a  dog's  kennel 
at  the  entrance.  Usually  Anne  Vasilievna  did  not 
leave  the  country  so  early ;  but  this  year  the  first  au 
tumnal  colds  were  supposed  to  be  prejudicial  to  her 
health,  and  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  whose  course  of 
treatment  was  now  finished,  found  his  wife's  society 
dull.  Besides  which,  Augustina  had  gone  to  Reval 
on  a  visit  to  a  cousin  of  hers,  and  a  foreign  com 
pany  of  artists  had  arrived  in  Moscow,  and  were  now 
giving  there  a  series  of  representations,  consisting  of 
des  poses  plastiqucs^  a  glowing  description  of  which 
in  the  Moscow  Gazette  had  greatly  excited  Anne  Vas- 
ilievna's  curiosity.  In  a  word,  all  were  heartily  tired 
of  the  country,  and  moreover,  as  Nicholas  Artem- 


172  On  the  Eve. 

vitch  expressed  if,  their  further  sojourn  there  "  was 
incompatible"  with  the  carrying  out  of  his  plans." 
The  last  fortnight  of  their  stay  seemed  interminable 
to  Ellen.  Cournatovsky  came  twice  every  Sunday: 
during  the  week  he  was  engaged.  He  came  avow 
edly  to  see  Ellen,  but  for  the  most  part  talked  with 
Zoe,  who  was  in  raptures  with  him,  and  could  not 
sufficiently  admire  his  fine  voice,  his  manner  of  speak 
ing,  and  his  exquisite  pronunciation.  "  Das  ist  ein 
mann!"  she  thought  to  herself,  as  she  gazed  on  his 
brown  manly  face,  and  listened  to  his  conceited  and 
condescending  speeches.  Insaroff  did  not  come  to 
the  StachorTs,  but  Ellen  met  him  once  secretly  in  the 
arbor  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Moscow,  where  she 
had  appointed  to  meet  him.  They  had  only  time  to 
exchange  a  few  words.  Shoubine  returned  to  Mos 
cow  with  Anne  Vasilievna,  and  Bersieneff  followed 
them  a  few  days  later. 

Insaroff  was  sitting  alone  in  his  room,  and,  for 
the  third  time,  was  reading  a  letter  which  had  been 
privately  forwarded  him  from  Bulgaria,  since  it  was 
dangerous  to  trust  to  the  post.  Its  contents  greatly 
disturbed  him.  Affairs  in  the  East  were  becoming 
serious,  the  occupation  of  the  Principalities  by  the 
Russian  troops  had  excited  a  general  uneasiness 
throughout  Europe,  the  storm  was  quickly  gathering, 
and  the  dullest  could  foresee  the  signs  of  a  speedy 
and  inevitable  war.  All  around,  the  fire  was  smoul 
dering,  and  none  could  predict  where  it  would  break 


On  the  Eve. 

out  or  where   it  would  extend  to' 

long  disappointed  hopes  were  reviving 

heart  beat  feverishly,  his  dreams  were  on  the  eve  of 

being  realized.     "  But  is  it  not  too  soon  ?  will  it  not 

be  all  in  vain  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  wrung  his  hands  in 

perplexity.     "  We  are  not  ready  :  but  be  it  so  !     The 

blow  must  be  struck." 

A  light  noise  was  heard  outside  the  door,  it  was 
quickly  pushed  open,  and  Ellen  entered  the  room. 

Insaroff,  trembling  all  over,  rushed  towards  her, 
fell  on  his  knees  before  her,  and  passionately  pressed 
her  to  his  bosom. 

"  You  did  not  expect  me  ?  "  she  said  as  soon  as 
she  had  recovered  her  breath,  for  she  had  run  quick 
ly  up  the  stairs ;  "  Oh,  my  darling  !  my  darling  !  " 
She  laid  both  her  hands  on  his  head,  and  looked 
around.  "  So  this  is  where  you  live  ?  i  soon  found 
your  lodging.  Your  landlady's  daughter  showed  me 
the  way.  We  arrived  the  clay  before  yesterday.  I 
did  think  of  writing  to  you,  but  after  all,  thought  it 
was  better  to  come  myself.  I  have  only  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  to  stay.  So,  get  up  and  shut  the  door." 

He  rose  up,  hurriedly  locked  the  door,  came  back 
to  where  she  was  standing,  and  took  her  by  the  hands. 
He  could  not  speak — his  joy  choked  him.  She 
smilingly  gazed  into  his  eyes,  which  beamed  with  hap 
piness,  and  slightly  blushed. 

"Stop,"  she  said  gently  releasing  herself  from 
his  grasp,  "  let  me  take  off  my  bonnet." 


174  On  the  Eve. 

She  untied  the  bonnet-strings,  threw  it  on  a  chair, 
let  her  cloak  fall  on  her  shoulders,  smoothed  her  hair, 
and  sat  down  on  a  small  old  sofa.  Insaroff  did  not 
move,  but  continued  gazing  upon  her  as  if  be 
witched. 

u  Sit  down,"  she  said,  without  raising  her  eyes  to 
wards  him,  and  pointing  to  the  place  by  her  side. 

Insaroff  sat  down,  not  on  the  sofa,  but  on  the  floor 
at  her  feet. 

"  Now  take  off  my  gloves,"  she  continued  in  an 
agitated  and  troubled  tone.  She  evidently  began  to 
feel  ill  at  ease. 

He  first  began  to  unbutton  and  then  to  pull  off 
one  of  the  gloves,  but  had  only  half  drawn  it  off, 
when  he  eagerly  pressed  to  his  lips  her  thin,  white, 
soft  wrist.  Ellen  shrank  back,  and  tried  to  push  him 
away  with  her  other  hand,  but  it  was  only  in  vain,  and 
he  began  to  kiss  the  hand  he  held.  Ellen  drew  it  to 
wards  her ;  he  bent  his  head  forward ;  she  looked, 
half-inquiringly,  half-doubtingly,  into  his  face,  leaned 
down,  and  their  lips  were  joined  together. 

A  moment  passed.  She  snatched  herself  from 
his  embrace,  rose  up,  murmured,  "  No,  no,"  and  went 
hurriedly  to  the  writing-table. 

"  Considering  I  am  the  mistress  here,  you  must 
have  no  secrets,"  she  said,  trying  to  appear  uncon 
cerned,  and  standing  with  her  back  to  him.  "  What 
a  mass  of  papers  !  And  what  letters  are  those  ?  " 

Insaroff   knit    his    brows.    "  Those  letters  ?  "  he 


On  the  Eve.  175 

asked,  getting  up  from  the  floor.  "You  can  read 
them." 

Ellen  took  them  into  her  hands.  "There  are  so 
many,  and  they  are  so  closely  written  ;  besides,  I  must 
go  directly ;  so  God  be  with  them.  They  are  not 
from  a  rival  of  mine  ?  They  are  not  in  Russian, 
either,"  she  added,  turning  over  the  thin  leaves. 

Insaroff  came  up  to  her,  and  put  his  arm  round 
her  waist.  She  immediately  turned  towards  him, 
looked  up  with  a  bright  smile,  and  let  her  head  fall 
on  his  breast. 

"  These  letters  are  from  Bulgaria,  Ellen ;  my 
friends  write  that  I  am  wanted  there." 

"  Now  ?  there  ?  " 

"Yes, now.  There  is  yet  time ;  soon  it  will  be  too 
late  to  go." 

She  threw  both  her  arms  round  his  neck.  "  But 
you  will  take  me  with  you  ?  " 

He  clasped  her  to  his  breast.  "  Oh,  my  darling 
girl !  my  brave  heroine  !  how  nobly  you  spoke  those 
words !  But  is  it  not  a  crime,  a  wicked,  thoughtless 
act,  in  me,  who  have  no  home  and  am  alone  in  the 
world,  to  take  you  with  me — and  whither  ? " 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  mouth.  "  Ts-s-s  !  or  I 
shall  be  angry,  and  will  never  come  to  see  you  again. 
Was  it  not  all  arranged,  all  settled,  between  us?  Am 
I  not  your  wife  ?  Should  a  wife  be  separated  from 
her  husband  ? " 

"Wives  do  not  go  into  battle,"  he  answered. 


176  On  the  Eve. 

"  Not  when  they  can  remain  behind.  But  can  I 
possibly  stay  here  ?  " 

"  Ellen,  you  are  an  angel !  But  understand,  I  may 
have  to  leave  Moscow  before  a  fortnight  is  over.  I 
can  no  longer  think  of  continuing  at  the  university, 
still  less  of  finishing  my  course  there." 

"Is  it  so?"  interrupted  Ellen.  "You  must  go 
soon  ?  If  you  only  wish  it,  I  will  now,  at  once,  this 
minute,  stay  with  you,  remain  with  you  for  ever,  and 
not  go  home;  do  you  wish  it?  Let  us  go  at  once; 
do  you  wish  it  ?  " 

Insaroff  with  redoubled  passion  clasped  her  to  his 
breast.  "  May  the  just  God  punish  me,"  he  exclaim 
ed,  "  if  what  I  do  now  be  a  crime  !  From  this  day  we 
are  one  for  ever." 

"  Shall  I  stay  ?  "  asked  Ellen. 

"No,  sweet;  no,  my  precious  love.  Go  home  to 
day,  but  be  in  readiness.  This  business  cannot  be 
done  at  once,  everything  must  be  well  provided  for. 
We  require  money,  passports — " 

"  I  have  money,"  said  Ellen,  "  eighty  roubles." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  much,"  observed  Insaroff,  "  but  it 
is  always  useful." 

"  But  I  can  get  more,  I  can  borrow,  I  will  ask 
mamma.  No,  better  not  ask  her.  I  can  sell  my 
watch ;  and  then  I  have  earrings,  two  bracelets,  and 
a  quantity  of  lace." 

"  Money  is  not  the  difficulty,  Ellen,  but  the  pass 
ports  ;  your  pass — how  can  we  manage  that  ?  " 


On  the  Eve.  177 

"  Yes,  what  is  to  be  done  ?  A  passport  is  abso 
lutely  necessary  ?" 

"  Absolutely." 

"You  know,  an  idea  has  come  into  my  head,' 
Ellen  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  I  recollect  when  I 
was  quite  young,  one  of  our  servants  ran  away.  She 
was  caught,  pardoned,  and  lived  for  a  long  time  with 
us :  but  in  spite  of  all  our  liking  for  the  girl,  she  ran 
away  again.  I  little  thought  then  that  I  too,  perhaps, 
might  have  to  run  away  like  her." 

"  Ellen,  aren't  you  ashamed  ?  " 

"  What  is  there  to  be  ashamed  of  ?  Of  course,  it 
is  better  to  go  with  a  passport :  but  if  you  haven't 
one  ? " 

"  We  will  arrange  all  that  afterwards, — afterwards  ; 
only  wait  a  little,"  muttered  Insaroff. 

"  Give  me  time  to  look  about  me  and  to  think.  Of 
course,  I  shall  consult  you  about  everything ;  that  is 
only  right.  But  I  have  money." 

Ellen  stroked  back  the  locks  of  hair  that  had 
fallen  over  his  forehead.  "  Oh,  Demetrius,  how  pleas 
ant  it  will  be  to  travel  together !  " 

"Yes,"  said  Insaroff:  "but  there,  where  we  are 
bound  for — " 

"  What  ?  "  interrupted  Ellen  :  "  would  it  not  also 
be  happiness  to  die  together  ?  But  why  should  we 
die  ?  We  shall  live,  we  are  still  young.  How  old  are 
you  ?  Twenty-six  ?  " 

"  Twenty-six." 
12 


178  On  the  Eve. 

"  And  I  am  twenty.  We  have  still  a  long  life  be 
fore  us.  Ah,  you  wished  to  run  away  from  me  ?  You. 
a  Bulgarian,  had  no  need  of  a  Russian's  love  !  Try 
now  to  leave  me  !  What  would  become  of  you,  were 
I  not  by  your  side  ?  " 

"  Ellen,  you  know  what  was  my  reason  for  wishing 
to  go  away." 

"  I  know :  you  loved  me,  and  were  afraid.  But 
could  it  be  that  you  never  suspected  that  perhaps  I 
loved  you  ? " 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  Ellen,  I  did  not." 

Ellen  quickly  and  suddenly  gave  him  a  kiss. 
"  There,  I  love  you  for  saying  that.  But,  now,  good 
bye." 

"  You  cannot  stay  any  longer  ?  "  Insaroff  asked. 

"  No,  darling.  You  think  it  was  easy  for  me  to 
come  out  alone  ?  Our  quarter  of  an  hour  has  long 
passed  by."  She  began  putting  on  her  cloak  and  bon 
net.  "  But  you  will  come  and  see  us  to-morrow  evening. 
Oh,  no,  the  day  after  to-morrow.  It  will  be  dull  and 
ceremonious,  but  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  :  at  any 
rate,  we  shall  see  each  other.  Good-bye.  Do  let  me 
go."  He  was  embracing  her  for  the  last  time.  "Ah, 
look,  you  have  broken  my  chain,  you  dear  awkward 
fellow ;  but  it  doesn't  matter.  It  is  all  the  better.  I 
shall  go  to  Blacksmith's  Bridge,  and  leave  it  to  be  re 
paired  ;  and  if  I  am  asked  where  I  have  been,  I  shall 
say  to  the  watchmaker's."  She  had  already  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door.  "  Ah,  by  the  way,  I  forgot 


On  the  Eve.  179 

to  tell  you  that  in  a  day  or  so  Monsieur  Cournatovsky 
intends  offering  me  his  hand.  But  you  know  what 
answer  I  shall  give  him  ;  this."  She  put  the  thumb  of 
her  left  hand  to  the  end  of  her  nose,  and  stretched 
out  the  other  fingers  as  far  as  she  could."  "  Well, 
good-bye.  Au  revoir.  I  know  the  way  now.  But 
see  that  you  do  not  lose  any  time." 

Ellen  half  opened  the  door,  listened  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then,  turning  round,  nodded  to  Insaroff 
and  hurried  from  the  room. 

Insaroff  stood  for  a  minute  by  the  closed  door,  and 
listened  too.  The  door  down  stairs,  opening  into  the 
courtyard,  was  heard  to  bang.  He  went  to  the  sofa, 
sat  down,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  Never 
before  had  he  experienced  such  feelings  as  now  pos 
sessed  him. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  merit  such  a  love  ?  "  he 
thought.  "  Is  it  not  all  a  dream  ?  " 

But  the  faint  fragrance  of  mignonette,  which  Ellen 
had  left  in  his  dark  shabby  room,  reminded  him  of  her 
presence.  Together  with  it  he  fancied  that  he  still 
could  hear  the  sound  of  her  young  voice,  the  noise  of 
her  light  youthful  step  ;  still  breathe  the  warmth  and 
light  of  her  young  graceful  form. 

*  The  reader  need  hardly  be  reminded  that  this  was  in 
Russia. 


i8o  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

PERPLEXITY,    AND     ITS    SERIOUS    RESULTS. 

INSAROFF  determined  to  wait  for  more  positive 
information  from  Bulgaria,  but  at  the  same  time 
began  making  preparations  for  his  departure.  This 
was  no  easy  matter.  For  himself  there  was  no  diffi 
culty — he  had  only  to  apply  for  a  passport ;  but  how 
was  he  to  manage  with  Ellen  ?  To  obtain  her  pass 
port  by  legal  means  was  simply  impossible.  To  mar 
ry  her  in  secret,  and  then  go  to  her  parents — "  They 
would  pardon  us,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  And  if  not ! 
We  still  must  flee.  But  if  they  make  a  complaint 
before  the  police  ;  if —  No,  better  get  the  pass 
port  anyhow/' 

He  resolved,  of  course  without  mentioning  any 
name,  to  apply  to  one  of  his  acquaintances,  a  certain 
lawyer,  who  (voluntarily,  or  involuntarily  was  quite 
uncertain)  had  retired  from  business,  and  was  well 
experienced  in  all  matters  of  a  delicate  or  secret  na 
ture.  This  respectable  worthy  lived  in  a  distant 
quarter  of  the  town,  and  the  wretched  cabman  whom 
poor  Insaroff  engaged  took  more  than  an  hour  in 
bringing  him  to  the  house,  and  when  Insaroff  arrived 


On  the  Eve.  181 

he  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  nobody  at  home.  On 
his  road  back,  thanks  to  a  sudden  and  heavy  shower, 
he  got  wet  to  the  skin.  The  following  morning,  in 
spite  of  a  violent  headache,  Insaroff  again  set  off  for 
the  lawyer's.  The  lawyer  listened  to  his  request  very 
quietly,  whilst  regaling  himself  with  plentiful  sup 
plies  of  snuff  from  a  box,  whose  lid  was  adorned 
with  the  figure  of  a  full-breasted  nymph,  and  gave 
many  a  side  glance  at  his  visitor  with  his  cunning 
eyes,  which  were  also  of  a  snuffy  color.  He  heard 
him  out,  and  then  asked  for  "  preciser  information  as 
to  the  fictitious  data ;  "  and  observing  that  Insaroff, 
who  in  reality  had  an  inexpressible  repugnance  to 
the  whole  business,  was  unwilling  to  enter  into  de 
tails,  dryly  counselled  him  to  throw  away  "  all  foolish 
reserve,"  and  to  be  kind  enough  to  come  another 
time,  "  when  you  have,"  he  added,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  "  a  little  more  confidence  and  lesi  cttsM-'c*  in 
honest  people.  As  for  the  passport,"  he  added, 
speaking  as  it  were  to  himself,  "  it  is  a  mere  question 
of  writing :  you,  for  example,  leave  Moscow  :  who 
knows  you,  who  you  are,  whether  you  be  Marie  Bre- 
dichin  or  Caroline  Vogelmeyer  ?  "  A  feeling  of  dis 
gust  began  to  take  hold  of  Insaroff,  but  he  merely 
thanked  the  lawyer,  and  promised  to  call  for  the  pass 
m  a  few  days. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  he  paid  a  visit 
to  the  Stachoffs.  Anne  Vasilievna  received  him  in 
the  most  friendly  manner,  reproached  him  with  hav 


1 82  On  the  Eve. 

jng  forgotten  them  so  long,  and,  observing  how  pale 
he  was,  inquired  after  his  health;  Nicholas  Artein- 
vitch  did  not  address  a  word  to  him,  but  when  he 
received  him  there  was  a  kind  of  half-thoughtful, 
half-idle  curiosity  in  his  look  ;  Shoubine  was  cold  and 
reserved  in  his  manner:  but  what  astonished  him 
most  was  Ellen's  marvellous  tact  and  self-possession. 
She  had  expected  him,  and  had  put  on  the  same  dress 
which  she  wore  at  their  first  meeting  in  the  oratory  ; 
but  she  was  so  completely  at  her  ease,  so  amiable, 
and  so  unreserved  in  her  gayety,  that,  to  look  at  her, 
no  one  could  have  imagined  that  this  young  girl's 
destiny  was  already  decided,  and  that  the  secret 
knowledge  of  her  happy  love  gave  animation  to  her 
features,  grace  and  charm  to  her  every  movement. 
She  helped  Zoe  in  serving  the  tea,  and  was  the  mer 
riest  and  noisiest  of  them  all :  she  knew  that  Shou 
bine  was  watching  her,  that  Insaroff  was  unable  to 
act  a  part  or  to  assume  indifference,  and  she  therefore 
put  on  a  courage  that  she  was  far  from  really  feeling. 
Nor  was  she  mistaken ;  Shoubine  did  not  once  take 
his  eyes  off  from  her,  and  Insaroff  was  very  dull  an  1 
silent  during  the  whole  evening.  Ellen  was  so  hap 
py  that  she  longed  to  twit  him  with  being  so 
gloomy. 

"Well,"  she  suddenly  asked  him  out  loud,  "have 
you  carried  out  your  plan  ?  " 

"What  plan?"  demanded  he  in  a  troubled  tone. 

"  So,  you  have  forgotten  ?  "  she  answered  laugh 


On  the  Eve.  183 

ing :  only  he  understood  the  meaning  of  that  ringing 
merry  laugh.  "  Why,  your  Bulgarian  Reading-book 
for  the  Russians." 

"  Quelle  bourde  !  "  Nicholas  Artemvitch  grumbled 
through  his  teeth. 

Zoe  sat  down  to  the  piano.  Ellen  gave  an  almost 
imperceptible  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  and  then  looked 
meaningly,  first  at  Insaroff,  and  then  at  the  door,  as 
if  to  hint  to  him  that  he  should  go  home.  She  next 
tapped  gently  with  her  fingers  twice  on  the  table,  all 
the  while  looking  at  him  significantly.  He  under 
stood  that  she  meant  to  give  him  a  meeting  on  the 
day  after  the  morrow,  and  she  exchanged  a  quick 
smile  with  him  when  she  saw  that  he  had  rightly  com 
prehended  her  dumb-show.  Insaroff  soon  after  got 
up  to  say  good-bye :  he  felt  extremely  giddy  and 
weak.  Just  then  Cournatovsky  made  his  appearance. 
Nicholas  Artemvitch  jumped  up  from  his  chair,  and 
with  a  boisterous  and  fervid  shake  of  the  hand  wel 
comed  the  First  Secretary.  Insaroff  prolonged  his 
visit  for  a  few  minutes,  that  he  might  have  an  oppor 
tunity  of  examining  his  rival's  appearance  and  man 
ners.  Ellen  furtively  shook  her  head,  and  the  master 
of  the  house  not  having  thought  it  necessary  to  in 
troduce  them  to  one  another,  Insaroff  left,  having  ex 
changed  a  last  glance  with  Ellen.  Shoubine  was 
buried  in  thought,  and  only  aroused  himself  to  begin 
an  angry  discussion  with  Cournatovsky  on  some  dry 
and  seemingly  meaningless  law  question. 


1 84  On  the  Eve. 

Insaroff  could  not  sleep  the  whole  night,  and  got 
up  in  the  morning  quite  jaded  and  ill  He  however 
busied  h:  iself  with  putting  his  papers  and  letters  in 
order,  hat  his  head  was  heavy  and  confused.  By 
iinner  line  he  was  hot  and  burning,  and  was  unable 
o  e  it  anything.  The  fever  grew  more  violent  towards 
the  evening ;  every  one  of  his  members  was  aching, 
and  his  head  was  racked  with  the  torturing  pain. 
Insaroff  lay  down  on  the  same  sofa  where  so  lately 
Ellen  had  sat.  "I  am  well  punished,"  he  thought; 
"  why  did  I  go  to  that  old  knave's  ?  "  and  he  tried  to 
get  to  sleep.  But  a  violent  illness  had  laid  hold  of 
him.  His  pulse  beat  with  unnatural  force,  his  blood 
boiled  within  him,  and  the  wildest  fancies  filled  his 
brain.  He  became  unconscious.  Like  some  crushed 
lifeless  mass  he  lay  on  his  back;  when  suddenly  a 
low  voice  was  heard  speaking  softly  and  whispering 
in  his  ear.  With  a  violent  effort  he  opened  his  eyes, 
but  the  light  of  the  still  burning  candle  cut  into  his 
flesh,  as  though  it  had  been  a  knife.  What  is  that  ? 
There  is  the  old  lawyer  standing  before  him,  in  his 
bright  belted  dressing-gown,  exactly  as  he  appeared 
the  evening  before.  "  Caroline  Vogelmeyer,"  muttered 
the  toothless  old  knave.  Insaroff  looked  at  him  with 
eager,  devouring  eyes  ;  but  the  old  man  began  to 
grow  wider,  fuller,  taller ;  he  was  no  longer  a  man — 
he  was  a  tree.  Insaroff  had  to  crawl  through  a 
dense  thicket;  he  got  entangled,  fell,  and  struck  his 
breast  against  a  sharp  stone.  On  the  stone,  in  the 


On  the  Eve.  185 

form  of  a  peddler,  was  squatted  Caroline  Vogel- 
meyer,  crying  out,  "  Cakes  to  sell !  cakes  to  sell ! 
cakes  to  sell !  "  and  there,  just  there,  was  a  large  pool 
of  blood,  and  in  the  distance  could  be  seen  the  blind 
ing  glitter  of  swords.  Ellen !  and  all  vanished  in  a 
red  indistinguishable  chaos. 


186  On  the  Em. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE    SICK-ROOM. 

"*"  I  "HERE  is  somebody  down  sta  rs,  I  don't  know 

-L  who,  a  locksmith  or  something  of  that  kind, 
who  wants  to  speak  to  you,1'  said  Bersieneff 's  servant, 
who  prided  himself  on  his  irreproachable  manners 
toward  his  superiors,  and  on  the  sceptical  tendency 
of  his  mind. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  in,"  answered  Bersieneff. 

The  "  locksmith "  entered.  Bersieneff  at  once 
recognized  in  him  the  tailor,  master  of  the  lodging 
where  Insaroff  lived. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  him. 

"  I  have  come  to  your  honor,"  began  the  tailor,  as 
he  kept  shuffling  his  feet,  first  forwards  and  then 
backwards,  with  an  occasional  nourish  of  his  right 
hand,  the  three  last  fingers  of  which  were  nervously 
twitching  the  corner  of  his  apron,  "  I  have  come  to 
tell  your  honor  that  our  lodger  is  very  ill." 

"Which?  Insaroff?" 

"  Just  so  :  our  lodger.  No  one  knows  how,  but 
yesterday  morning  he  was  still  on  his  feet ;  in  the 
evening  he  merely  asked  for  something  to  drink;  our 
good  woman  took  him  some  water;  but  in  the  night 


On  the  Eve.  187 

*e  hear  a  thump  on  the  other  side  of  the  waU ;  and 
this  morning  he  is  without  a  tongue,  but  lies  like  a 
clod ;  and  feverish,  ah  !  my  God  !  Well,  thinks  I, 
he  will  die  for  sure;  better  go  and  tell  the  police, 
thinks  I,  seeing  he  is  quite  alone.  But  my  woman 
says  to  me,  You  go  to  that  gentleman,  in  whose 
country-house  he  lived  this  summer ;  perhaps  he'll 
tell  you  what  to  do,  or,  may  be,  will  come  himself. 
So,  your  honor,  I  have  come,  because,  you  see,  it 
wouldn't  do." 

Bersieneff  snatched  up  his  cap,  and  having  given 
the  man  something  for  drink-money,  hurried  off  with 
him  to  Insaroff 's  lodging. 

He  found  him  lying  full-dressed  on  the  sofa  in  a 
state  of  unconsciouness.  The  expression  of  his  face 
was  terribly  changed.  Bersieneff  at  once  ordered  the 
landlord  and  landlady  to  undress  him  and  put  him  to 
bed,  whilst  he  himself  hastened  to  a  doctor's,  and 
brought  him  to  his  friend.  The  doctor  prescribed 
the  immediate  application  of  leeches  and  a  plaster, 
gave  him  a  dose  of  calomel,  and  directed  that  he 
should  be  bled. 

"  He  is  in  danger  ? "  asked  Bersieneff. 

"  In  great  danger,"  answered  the  doctor.  "  The 
lungs  are  very  much  inflamed  ;  the  nerves  are  greatly 
excited,  it  may  even  be  that  the  brain  is  affected ;  and 
the  patient  is  young.  His  very  strength  tells  against 
him.  I  ought  to  have  been  sent  for  long  ago ;  but 
all  that  science  can  do  shall  be  done." 


1 88  On  the  Eve. 

The  doctor  was  still  very  young,  and  believed  in 
science. 

Bersieneff  stayed  all  night.  The  landlord  and 
his  wife  proved  themselves  to  be  kind-hearted  and 
active  ;  they  only  required  some  one  to  tell  them  what 
to  do. 

Toward  the  morning  InsarofT  woke  up  for  a  few 
minutes,  recognized  Bersieneff,  muttered  the  words, 
"It  seems  I  am  not  well,"  looked  around  him  with 
the  dull  uncertain  glance  of  a  man  who  is  seriously 
ill,  and  again  became  unconscious.  Bersieneff  went 
home,  changed  his  dress,  made  up  a  small  packet  of 
books,  and  returned  to  Insaroff 's  lodging.  He  de 
termined  to  stay  there  at  least  during  the  first  stage 
of  his  illness.  He  surrounded  the  bed  with  screens, 
and  arranged  for  himself  a  little  place  near  the  sofa. 
It  was  very  dull  for  him,  and  the  day  passed  slowly. 
Bersieneff  only  left  the  house  to  dine.  The  evening 
came  on.  He  lighted  a  candle,  shaded  it  with  an 
abat-jour,  and  sat  down  to  read.  All  was  silent  in 
the  room.  On  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  in  the 
landlady's  room,  could  be  heard  the  low  murmur  of 
conversation,  an  occasional  yawn  or  sigh.  Some  one 
sneezed,  and  then  a  low  scolding  ensued ;  from  be 
yond  the  screen  was  to  be  heard  the  heavy  unequal 
breathing  of  the  patient,  not  seldom  mingled  with  a 
dull  groan,  or  the  feverish  tossing  of  the  head  on  the 
pillow.  Strange  thoughts  filled  Bersieneff ;s  mind. 
He  was  by  the  bedside  of  a  man  whose  life  hung  on 


On  the  Eve.  189 

a  thread,  a  man  whom,  as  he  well  knew,  Ellen  loved. 
He  recalled  to  memory  the  night  when  Shoubine 
overtook  him,  and  reminded  him  that  Ellen  loved 
him. — him,  Bersieneff.  But  now — "  What  shall  I  do 
now?"  he  asked  himself:  "inform  Ellen  of  his 
illness  ?  or  shall  I  wait  a  little  ?  It  will  be  still  sadder 
news  than  that  which  I  once  took  to  her.  Strange, 
how  fate  wills  me  ever  to  play  the  part  of  a  mediator 
between  them  !  "  He  determined  it  would  be  better 
to  wait.  His  eyes  fell  on  the  table  covered  with  a 
mass  of  papers.  "Will  he  ever  fulfil  his  designs,  or 
can  it  be  that  all  has  come  to  an  end  ? "  He  was 
touched  with  pity  for  this  young  life,  wrecked  so 
early,  and  swore  to  save  it  from  the  clutches  of  death. 

The  patient  passed  a  bad  night,  and  was  delirious 
during  nearly  the  whole  time.  More  than  once  Ber 
sieneff  got  up  from  his  seat,  approached  the  bed  on 
tiptoe,  and  listened  sadly  to  the  sick  man's  incoherent 
babblings.  Once  Insaroff  cried  out  with  a  sudden 
and  terrible  distinctness,  "  I  will  not  have  it !  I  will 
not  have  it !  you  shall  not !  "  Bersieneff  shuddered 
as  he  gazed  on  Insaroff:  his  features,  which  bore  at 
the  same  moment  the  traces  of  passion  and  of  death, 
were  fixed  and  rigid,  and  his  hands  lay  powerlessly 
on  his  breast.  "  I  will  not  have  it,"  he  repeated  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  so  low  that  the  words  were  scarcely 
audible. 

The  doctor  came  early  the  next  morning,  shook 
his  head,  and  prescribed  some  fresh  medicine.  "  The 


190  On  the  Eve. 

crisis  will  not  be  for  some  time  yet,"  he  observed,  as 
he  took  up  his  hat. 

"  And  after  the  crisis  ?  "  asked  Bersieneff. 

"  After  the  crisis  ?  One  of  two  things ;  aut  Cfzsar, 
aut  nullus" 

The  doctor  went  away.  Bersieneff  took  a  few 
turns  in  the  street;  after  the  stifling  atmosphere  of 
the  sick  room  a  little  fresh  air  was  necessary.  He 
returned  and  once  more  sat  down  to  his  book.  He 
had  already  long  finished  Raumer,  and  was  now  en 
gaged  on  Grote.  Suddenly  the  door  slightly  creaked 
on  its  hinges,  and  the  head  of  the  landlady's  daughter, 
as  usual  wrapped  up  in  a  thick  handkerchief,  was  to 
be  seen  peeping  cauticasly  in. 

"  The  young  lady  who  gave  me  the  sixpence,"  she 
said  in  a  half-whisper,  "  has  come." 

Her  head  was  as  suddenly  withdrawn  as  it  had 
appeared,  and  at  the  same  moment  Ellen  entered  the 
room. 

Bersieneff  leaped  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot ;  but 
Ellen  made  no  sign  of  recognition,  gave  no  cry  of 
surprise.  It  seemed  that  she  instantly  comprehended 
all.  Her  face  was  ghastly  pale,  as  going  behind  the 
screen  she  looked  at  the  motionless  figure  that  lay 
stretched  on  the  bed,  and  with  her  hands  tightly 
clasped  she  stood  as  one  petrified.  Another  moment 
and  she  had  thrown  herself  upon  InsarorT,  but  Ber 
sieneff  stayed  her.  "  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  he  ex 
claimed  in  a  low  whisper  :  "  do  you  wish  to  kill  him  ?  " 


On  Ike  Eve.  191 

She  tottered  and  all  but  fell  to  the  ground.  He 
gently  held  her  up,  led  her  to  the  sofa,  and  made  her 
sit  down  beside  him.  She  looked  up  into  his  face, 
gazed  at  him  long  and  earnestly  as  though  she  would 
read  his  most  secret  thoughts,  and  then  fixed  her  eyes 
on  the  floor. 

"  You  think  he  must  die,"  she  said  in  a  tone  so 
cold  and  quiet  that  it  terrified  Bersieneff. 

"  In  God's  name,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  what  do  you 
mean  ?  He  is  ill,  very  ill — even  dangerously  ill.  But 
we  will  save  him,  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  He  is  unconscious  ? "  she  asked  in  the  same 
calm,  collected  tone. 

"  For  the  present  he  is  unconscious.  It  is  always 
so  at  the  beginning  of  those  illnesses,  but  it  is  noth 
ing,  it  is  nothing,  I  assure  you.  Drink  a  little  water." 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  the  ground,  and  from 
her  expression  he  could  see  that  she  had  not  heard  a 
word  of  his  replies. 

"  If  he  dies,"  she  continued,  always  in  the  same 
cold,  subdued  tone,  "  I  die  with  him." 

At  that  moment  Insaroff  gave  a  light  groan  ;  she 
shuddered  as  she  heard  it,  put  her  hands  vacantly  to 
her  head,  and  then  began  untying  the  strings  of  her 
bonnet. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  Bersieneff  asked  her. 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ? "  he  asked  a  second  time. 

« I  shall  stay  here." 


192        ,  On  the  Eve. 

"  How— for  long  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know :  it  may  be  all  day,  for  the  night, 
for  ever ;  I  don't  know." 

"  For  God's  sake,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  return 
home.  I  certainly  never  expected  to  see  you  here; 
but  as  it  is,  I  suppose  you  have  come  here  only  for 
a  few  minutes.  Think  only,  they  may  discover  your 
absence  at  home." 

"  And  what  then  ?  " 

"  They  will  look  for  you — will  find  you." 

"  And  what  then  ?  " 

"  Ellen  Nicholaevna  !  You  understand.  He  can 
not  protect  you  now." 

She  let  her  head  fall,  as  if  lost  in  thought,  raised 
her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth,  and  her  breast  sud 
denly  heaved  with  convulsive  sobbings,  whose  vio 
lence  seemed  to  rend  her  whole  body.  She  hid  her 
face  in  the  sofa,  and  tried  to  stifle  them,  but  it  was 
all  in  vain  ;  her  whole  frame  quivered  and  shook,  like 
some  young  bird  that  has  been  caught  in  the  hand. 

"  Ellen  Nicholaevna  !  for  God's  sake  !  "  Bersie- 
neff  kept  repeating. 

"Who  is  there?  what  is  that?"  Insaroff  was 
heard  to  murmur. 

Ellen  gave  a  violent  start,  but  Bersieneff  remained 
as  it  were  rooted  to  his  seat.  A  few  minutes  passed, 
and  he  went  up  to  the  bed.  As  before,  Insaroff 's 
head  lay  helplessly  on  the  pillow,  his  eyes  closed. 

"  He  is  delirious  ?  "  whispered  Ellen. 


On  the  Eve.  193 

"  Apparently,"  answered  Bersieneff;  "but  that  is 
nothing  ;  it  is  always  so,  particularly  if — " 

"  When  was  he  taken  ill  ?  "  interrupted  Ellen. 

"  The  day  before  yesterday ;  since  yesterday  I 
have  been  here.  Trust  in  me,  Ellen  Nicholaevna.  I 
will  not  leave  him.  Everything  that  is  possible  shall 
be  done  for  him.  If  necessary,  we  will  call  in  a  physi 
cian." 

"  He  will  die  without  me,"  she  sobbed  out,  wring 
ing  her  hands. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  to  send  you  news  of  him 
every  day,  and  should  there  be  any  actual  danger — " 

"  Swear  to  me  that  you  will  instantly  send  for  me, 
no  matter  what  hour  it  be  day  or  night :  write  a  note 
direct  to  me.  All  is  the  same  now.  Do  you  under 
stand  !  You  promise  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  I  promise  before  God." 

"  Swear !  " 

"  I  swear." 

She  suddenly  seized  his  hand,  and  before  he  could 
release  it,  pressed  it  passionately  to  her  lips. 

"  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  what  are  you  doing  ?  "  he 
stammered. 

"  No,  no,  it  is  not  necessary,"  disconnectedly  mut 
tered  Insaroff,  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

Ellen  went  toward  the  bed,  and,  with  handkerchief 
tightly  pressed  to  her  lips,  gazed  long  on  the  sick 
man.  Silent  tears  flowed  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Ellen  Nicholaevna !  "  Bersieneff  whispered  to 
13 


194  On  the  Eve. 

her;  "he  may  come  to,  and  recognize  you,  and  God 
knows  whether  that  would  be  well.  Besides,  I  ex 
pect  the  doctor  every  minute." 

Ellen  took  up  her  bonnet  from  the  sofa,  put  it  on, 
and  stood  still.  Her  eyes  wandered  over  the  room 
with  an  expression  of  utter  woe.  It  seemed  she  was 
recalling  to  mind  her  former  visit. 

"  I  cannot  go,"  she  at  length  whispered. 

Bersieneff  took  her  by  the  hand.  "  Collect  your 
strength,"  he  said  in  a  hurried  voice  :  "  do  not  be 
anxious ;  you  leave  him  in  my  care.  This  evening 
I  will  call  at  your  house.  " 

Ellen  looked  tenderly  at  him,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  my 
good  friend  !  "  and  sobbing  piteously  hastened  away. 

BersienefT  remained  leaning  against  the  door.  A 
sad  and  bitter  feeling,  not  altogether  unmixed  with  a 
sentiment  of  pride  and  joy,  filled  his  heart.  "  My 
good  friend !  "  he  repeated  to  himself,  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders  as  he  uttered  the  words. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  Insaroff  faintly  inquired. 

BersienefT  hurried  to  the  bed.  "  I  am  here,  De 
metrius  Nikanorovitch.  What  do  you  want  ?  How 
do  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Are  you  alone  ?  "  asked  the  sick  man. 

"  Alone  ? " 

"  And  she  ?  " 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ? "  demanded  Bersieieff,  in 
an  almost  frightened  tone. 

Insaroff  was  silent.     "  Mignonette,"  he  muttered 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

GOOD    NEWS. 

FOR  a  whole  week  InsarofF  lay  hovering  between 
life  and  death.  The  doctor  was  most  regular  in 
his  visits,  and  besides,  like  a  young  hand,  was  greatly 
interested  in  the  case.  Shoubine  heard  of  Insaroff's 
dangerous  illness,  and  frequently  called  to  hear  how 
he  was  progressing ;  several  of  his  compatriots  came 
also,  and  among  the  number  Bersieneff  recognized 
the  two  uncouth  figures,  whose  unexpected  appear 
ance  at  Koontsoff  had  aroused  his  curiosity.  One  or 
two  of  them  offered  to  take  Bersieneff 's  post,  but  he 
refused  to  quit  the  invalid's  bedside,  as  he  remembered 
the  promise  he  had  made  to  Ellen.  Every  day  he  saw 
her,  and  secretly  gave  her — sometimes  by  word  of 
mouth,  and  at  other  times  by  letter — the  minutest  de 
tails  as  to  the  state  of  his  patient.  With  what  a  beat 
ing  heart  she  awaited  the  hour  of  his  visit !  how 
eagerly  she  listened  to  the  report  he  had  to  give  her  ! 
and  how  anxiously  she  questioned  and  cross-ques 
tioned  him  !  She  burned  with  impatience  to  see  In- 
saroff,  if  only  once  more  ;  but  Bersieneff  prayed  her 
not  to  go,  since  Insaroff  was  rarely  alone.  The  first 


196  On  the  Eve. 

day  she  knew  of  his  illness  she  herself  all  but  fell  ill ; 
immediately  on  returning  she  shut  herself  up  in  her 
room,  and  when  summoned  to  dinner,  she  came  down 
stairs  with  a  face  so  ghastly  pale  that  Anne  Vasilievna 
was  with  difficulty  restrained  from  sending  for  the 
doctor.  But  Ellen  succeeded  in  forcing  herself  to 
keep  well.  "  If  he  die,"  she  constantly  repeated  to 
herself,  "  I  shall  not  long  survive."  This  idea  served 
to  compose  her,  and  endued  her  with  strength  enough 
to  assume  an  air  of  indifference.  Besides,  she  was 
fortunately  left  very  much  to  herself ;  Anne  Vasiliev 
na  was  taken  up  with  nursing  a  cold  she  had  caught ; 
Shoubine  was  suffering  from  an  unusual  fit  of  industry ; 
Zoe  was  seized  with  a  melancholy  mood,  and  spent 
nearly  her  whole  time  in  reading  Werther ;  Nicholas 
Artemvitch  was  highly  displeased  at  "  that  student  " 
so  frequently  calling,  the  more  so  as  his  "  plans  "  with 
reference  to  Cournatovsky  were  as  far  from  realization 
as  ever.  Our  practical  First  Secretary  still  hesitated, 
and  could  not  be  brought  to  the  point.  Ellen  did 
not  once  thank  Bersieneff;  there  are  services  for 
which  it  is  difficult  and  irksome  to  express  one's 
thanks.  Once, — it  was  on  the  fourth  day  of  InsarofFs 
illness,  and  he  had  passed  such  a  bad  night  that  the 
doctor  advised  a  consultation, — but  only  once,  she  re 
minded  him  of  his  oath.  "  In  that  case  I  will  come," 
she  said  to  him  :  and  she  got  up  and  began  dressing 
herself.  "  No,"  he  advised,  "  wait  only  till  to-morrow." 
Toward  the  evening  Insaroff  was  slightly  better. 


On  the  Eve.  197 

And  thus  passed  a  week  of  doubt  and  uncertainty. 
Outwardly,  Ellen  was  quiet  and  composed,  but  she 
was  unable  to  eat  anything,  and  could  not  sleep  at 
night.  A  dull  heavy  pain  cramped  all  her  limbs,  a  kind 
of  dry  hot  smoke  seemed  to  fill  her  head.  "  Our 
young  mistress,"  said  the  chambermaid  to  one  of  the 
other  servants,  "  is  melting  away  like  a  candle." 

At  length,  on  the  morning  of  the  ninth  day,  the 
crisis  had  passed.  Ellen  was  sitting  with  Anne  Vas- 
ilievna  in  the  breakfast-room,  and,  without  under 
standing  a  word  of  what  she  read,  was  reading  aloud 
to  her  the  Moscow  Gazette.  Bersieneff  came  in.  Ellen 
looked  up, — how  quick,  timid,  anxious,  and  searching 
was  that  first  glance  with  which  she  invariably  greet 
ed  him  ! — and  at  once  guessed  that  he  was  the  bearer 
of  good  news.  She  smiled,  and  when  he  slightly  nod 
ded  by  way  of  reply,  she  hurriedly  rose  up  to  meet 
him. 

"He  is  conscious,"  whispered  Bersieneff,  "he  is 
saved  ;  another  week  or  so,  and  he  will  be  all  right 
again !  " 

Ellen  stretched  forth  her  hands,  as  if  warding  off 
some  impending  blow,  and  made  no  answer;  only  her 
lips  quivered,  and  a  bright  red  spot  slowly  widened 
till  it  suffused  her  whole  cheek.  Bersieneff  went  up 
to  Anne  Vasilievna,  and  began  retailing  the  news  of 
the  day ;  but  Ellen  hastened  to  her  room,  and  throw 
ing  herself  on  her  knees  long  and  fervently  prayed  to 
God.  Tears  of  joy  and  gratitude  rose  to  her  eyes. 


I98  On  the  Eve. 

Suddenly  she  felt  a  strange  weariness  creep  over  her; 
she  laid  her  head  down  on  the  pillow,  and  murmuring 
the  words,  "  Poor  Andrew !"  fell  into  a  soft  slumber. 
It  was  long,  long  since  she  had  been  able  either  to 
sleep  or  to  weep. 


On  the  Eve.  199 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CONVALESCENCE. 

TJERSIENEFF'S  prediction  was  only  in  part  ful- 
J— 9  filled :  Insaroff  was  no  longer  in  danger,  but 
he  recovered  his  strength  very  slowly,  and  the  doctor 
spoke  forebodingly  of  the  thorough  and  complete 
shock  which  his  constitution  had  received.  Notwith 
standing  all  this,  he  left  his  bed,  and  could  even  walk 
across  the  room.  Bersieneff  returned  to  his  own  lodg 
ing,  but  every  day  called  to  see  his  sick  friend,  who 
still  continued  excessively  weak,  and  Bersieneff  as 
before,  every  day  kept  Ellen  informed  of  the  state 
of  his  health.  Insaroff  did  not  dare  to  write  to  her, 
and  only  indirectly,  in  conversations  with  Bersieneff, 
made  any  allusion  to  her ;  but  Bersieneff,  with  an  af 
fected  indifference,  told  him  of  his  visit  to  the  Sta- 
choffs,  and  tried  to  make  him  understand  that,  though 
Ellen  had  been  seriously  distressed,  she  was  now  tran 
quil  and  composed.  Neither  did  Ellen  write  to  Insa 
roff;  and  it  was  not,  indeed,  necessary,  considering 
the  resolution  she  had  secretly  formed. 

Once,  when  Bersieneff,  his  countenance  beaming 
with  pleasure,  had  just  told  her  that  the  doctor  had 


2oo  On  the  Eve. 

already  allowed  Insaroff  to  eat  a  mutton  chop,  and 
that  probably  he  would  soon  be  able  to  go  out,  she 
listened  with  her  eyes  cast  down  on  the  floor,  as  if 
lost  in  thought. 

"  Guess  what  I  wish  to  say  to  you,"  she  said. 

Bersieneff  looked  vexed.  He  understood  what 
she  meant.  "  Probably,"  he  answered,  turning  his  face 
away  so  that  she  could  not  see  its  expression,  "  you 
want  to  tell  me  that  you  wish  to  see  him." 

Ellen  blushed  as  she  answered, "  Yes,'1'  in  a  scarce 
ly  audible  tone. 

"  Well,  I  fancy  it  is  very  easy  for  you  to  do  so." 
And  his  heart  beat  violently  as  he  made  this  reply. 

"  You  mean,  I  have  already  been  there,"  contin 
ued  Ellen:  "but  I'm  afraid  to  go  now;  you  say,  he 
is  very  seldom  alone." 

"That  can  be  easily  managed,"  Bersieneff  replied, 
with  his  face  still  turned  from  her.  "  Of  course,  I 
cannot  tell  him  that  you  will  come ;  but  give  me  a 
note  for  him.  Who  can  forbid  your  writing  to  a  friend 
in  whom,  considering  his  late  illness,  you  are  natu 
rally  interested  ?  There  can  be  no  harm  in  doing 
that.  Make  an  appointment — that  is,  tell  him  when 
you  will  call." 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  do  it,"  whispered  Ellen. 

"  Give  me  the  note  ;  I  will  take  it  to  him." 

"  That  is  not  necessary ;  but  I  wished  to  ask  you 
— do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Andrew  Petrovitch — but 
don't  go  and  see  him  to-morrow." 


On  the  Eve.  201 

Bersieneff  bit  his  lips.  "  Ah,  yes ;  I  understand  : 
very  good,  very  good,"  he  said ;  and  almost  immedi 
ately  afterwards  got  up  and  left  her. 

"So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better,"  he 
thought  to  himself  on  his  way  home.  I  have  learned 
nothing  new,  nothing  that  I  did  not  know  before  ; 
but  so  much  the  better.  Why  hanker  after  another 
man's  food  ?  I  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed ;  I 
merely  did  what  I  thought  to  be  right :  but  now  it  is 
all  ended.  Let  them  go !  It  was  not  without  reason 
that  my  father  used  to  say  to  me, '  You  and  I,  my  boy, 
are  not  aristocrats,  pleasure-takers,  fortune's  pets; 
nor  are  we,  on  the  other  hand,  fortune's  martyrs, — 
we  are  workers,  workers,  mere  workers.  Put  on  your 
paper-cap,  like  a  good  workman,  take  your  place  be 
hind  the  counter,  in  your  dreary  warehouse  !  Let  the 
sun  shine  on  others  !  Our  life,  too,  however  hard  and 
dull,  is  not  without  its  pleasures  and  rewards." 

The  next  morning  Insaroff  received  through  the 
city  post  the  following  brief  note  :  "  You  may  expect 
me  to-day :  so,  take  care  that  you  are  quite  alone. 
A.  P.  will  not  call  this  morning. 

"  ELLEN." 


202  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

REPEATED    VOWS. 

T  IMMEDIATELY  on  reading  Ellen's  note,Insaroff 
-I  began  to  put  his  room  in  order,  told  the  landlady 
to  take  the  medicine  bottles  away,  took  off  his  dressing- 
gown,  and  put  on  his  coat.  Partly  from  weakness, 
and  partly  from  excitement,  his  head  swam  around, 
his  heart  beat  violently,  and  his  feet  trembled  under 
him.  He  lay  upon  the  sofa,  and  holding  his  watch 
in  his  hand  kept  looking  to  see  what  the  time  was. 
"  It  is  now  a  quarter  to  twelve,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self;  •'  she  cannot  be  here  before  twelve  :  I  must  try 
and  think  of  something  else  for  a  quarter  of  an 
hour ;  earlier  than  twelve  she  can't  be  here." 

The  door  opened,  and,  dressed  in  a  light  silk  robe, 
all  pale,  fresh,  young,  and  joyous,  Ellen  entered,  and 
with  a  soft  cry  of  joy  threw  herself  on  his  breast. 

"  You  are  living,  my  own  !  "  she  kept  repeating, 
while  she  tenderly  stroked  his  forehead.  He  sat 
perfectly  still,  and  could  scarcely  breathe,  so  stifling 
was  the  sense  of  happiness  at  once  more  having  her 
close  to  him  and  by  his  side. 

She  sat  leaning  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  gazing 


On  the  Eve.  203 

up  at  him  with  that  caressing  and  tender  glance 
which  sparkles  only  in  lovers'  eyes.  Suddenly  her 
countenance  became  overcast. 

"  How  thin  you  have  grown,  my  poor  Demetri 
us  ! "  she  said,  and  then  added,  as  she  stroked  his 
face  with  her  hand,  "  and  what  a  beard  you  have 
got!" 

"  And  you  too  have  grown  thinner,  Ellen,"  he  an 
swered,  pressing  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

She  laughingly  pushed  her  hair  off  from  her  face. 
"  Nonsense  !  "  she  cried.  "  Just  look,  how  stout  I 
am  getting !  The  storm  has  passed  over,  exactly  as 
it  did  the  day  we  met  in  the  oratory :  it  burst  upon 
us,  and  then  cleared  off.  Now  we  shall  be  happy  !  " 

He  only  answered  her  with  a  smile. 

"  Ah,  what  days  these  have  been,  Demetrius,  what 
wretched  days  !  How  can  people  survive  those  whom 
they  really  love  ?  I  always  knew  beforehand  what 
news  Andrew  Petrovitch  would  bring  :  I  did  indeed  : 
my  life  ebbed  and  flowed  with  yours.  Oh,  I  am  so 
glad,  so  happy  !  " 

He  did  not  know  what  to  say  :  he  felt  as  if  he 
must  throw  himself  at  her  feet. 

"  I  noticed  then,  too,"  she  continued,  pushing 
back  her  hair  from  her  forehead, — "  it  is  wonderful 
how  many  things  I  noticed  at  that  time  from  mere 
wretchedness, — that  when  one  is  very,  very  unhappy, 
everything  that  passes  around  one  at  once  becomes 
absurdly  interesting  and  important.  Will  you  believe 


204  On  the  Eve. 

it,  the  sight  of  a  mere  fly  often  made  my  blood  run  cold 
with  fright.  But  that  is  all  passed,  all  passed,  is  it 
not  ?  The  future  is  all  bright  now,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"It  is  you  who  have  made  my  future  bright," 
answered  Insaroff. 

"  And  you  mine,  too  !  But  do  you  remember 
when  I  was  at  your  room,  not  the  last  time,  no,  not 
the  last  time,"  she  repeated  with  an  involuntary 
shudder,  "  how,  while  talking  together,  we  spoke  of 
death  ?  We  little  suspected  then,  how  near  it  was. 
But  you  are  really  quite  well  now  ?  " 

"I  am  much  better,  nearly  well  again." 

"  You  have  recovered,  you  will  not  die.  Oh,  how 
happy  I  am  !  " 

A  short  silence  ensued. 

"  Ellen  ?  "  asked  Insaroff. 

"  What,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  truly,  has  it  never  occurred  to  you  that 
this  illness  has  been  sent  as  a  punishment  to  us  ?  " 

Ellen  looked  seriously  at  him  as  he  put  the  ques 
tion. 

"The  thought  did  come  into  my  head  that  it 
might  be  so,  Demetrius.  But  then,  I  asked  myself, 
Why  should  I  be  thus  punished  ?  What  duty  have  I 
neglected,  or  against  whom  have  I  sinned  ?  Perhaps, 
my  conscience  is  not  so  tender  as  that  of  others,  but 
it  did  not  accuse  me :  or,  perhaps,  I  have  sinned 
against  you.  I  impede  you,  I  stop  you." 

"  You,  impede  me,  Ellen !  we  shall  go  together." 


On  the  Eve.  205 

"Yes,  Demetrius,  we  will  go  together,  I  will  go 
with  you.  That  is  my  duty.  I  love  you.  I  know  no 
other  duty  but  that." 

"Oh,  Ellen!"  murmured  Insaroff,  "what  a  heavy 
responsibility  each  word  you  utter  seems  to  lay  upon 
me !  " 

"  Why  speak  of  responsibilities  ? "  interrupted 
Ellen.  "  In  all,  I  have  acted  of  my  own  free  will. 
"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  looking  thoughtfully  on  the  floor, 
"  I  have  experienced  much  within  the  last  few  weeks? 
of  which  I  had  previously  no  idea.  If  any  one  had 
told  me  that  I,  a  young  lady  of  a  good  family,  and 
well  brought  up,  should  ever  under  various  false  ex 
cuses  leave  home  in  order  to  visit  a  young  bachelor, 
how  angry  and  insulted  I  should  have  felt !  And  all 
this  happened,  and  it  seems  to  be  quite  natural 
that  I  should  come  here ;  it  does  really,"  she  added, 
turning  to  Insaroff. 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  such 
passionate  devotion,  that  she  quietly  ceased  stroking 
his  hair,  and  covered  his  eyes  with  her  hand. 

"  Demetrius  !  "  she  began  again  :  "  you  don't  know 
that  I  saw  you  then,  there  on  that  horrible  bed,  saw 
you  in  the  clutches  of  death,  unconscious." 

"  You  were  here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  was  dumbfounded.  "And  Bersieneff  was 
present?" 

She  nodded  her  head. 


206  On  the  Eve. 

Insaroff  bent  over  her.  "  Oh,  Ellen,"  he  whis 
pered,  "  I  dare  not  look  at  you." 

"  Why  not  ?  Andrew  Petrovitch  is  so  good !  I  feel 
no  shame  before  him.  And  what  have  I  to  be 
ashamed  of?  I  am  ready  to  tell  the  whole  world  that 
I  am  yours.  Besides,  I  trust  Andrew  Petrovitch  as  I 
would  my  brother." 

Insaroff  fixed  his  eyes  searchingly  on  Ellen.  "  He 
loves  you,  does  he  not  ?" 

Ellen  lowered  her  face.  "  He  did  love  me,"  she 
murmured  in  a  low  tone. 

Insaroff  threw  his  arm  round  her  as  he  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  you  Russians  are  noble-hearted  !  And  he,  he 
watched  over  me  day  and  night.  And  you,  you,  my 
angel!  Not  a  word  of  reproach,  not  a  moment's 
hesitation — and  all  for  me,  for  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  all  for  you,  because  I  love  you.  Ah, 
Demetrius !  how  strange  it  is  that — I  have  already 
told  you,  but  all  the  same,  it  is  pleasant  for  me  to 
repeat,  and  it  is  pleasant  for  you  to  hear — the  first 
time  I  saw  you — " 

"  Why  are  there  tears  in  your  eyes  ? "  interrupted 
Insaroff. 

"  I  ?  tears  ?  "  She  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  hand 
kerchief.  "  How  foolish  !  he  does  not  yet  know  that 
one  can  weep  for  over-joy  !  But  I  wanted  to  tell  you  : 
the  first  time  I  saw  you,  I  did  not  find  anything  ex 
traordinary  in  you ;  that  is  the  truth.  I  remember, 
that  when  I  first  saw  him,  Shoubine  pleased  me  much 


On  the  Eve.  207 

more,  and  as  for  Andrew  Petrovitch, — ah,  there  was 
a  minute  when  I  thought,  Is  he  not  the  one  ?  But 
you — nothing  at  all :  and  then — and  then — " 

"  Enough,  enough  !  "  hurriedly  exclaimed  InsarofT. 
He  tried  to  get  up,  but  fell  back,  pale  and  helpless, 
on  the  sofa. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  anxiously  inquired  Ellen. 

"  Nothing — nothing  :  I  am  still  a  little  weak ;  I 
am  not  strong  enough  to  bear  so  much  happiness." 

"  Sit  quiet  then.  Don't  say  a  word,  not  even  a 
whisper,"  she  replied,  holding  up  her  finger  threaten 
ingly.  "And  why  have  you  not  got  on  your  dressing- 
gown  ?  It  is  to  soon  to  be  fine  gentleman.  Sit  down, 
and  I'll  tell  you  something.  You  need  only  listen : 
after  your  illness,  it  is  not  good  to  talk  much." 

She  began  to  speak  to  him  of  Shoubine,  of  Cour- 
natovsky,  of  all  she  had  done  during  the  last  fort 
night,  of  the  certainty  of  war  soon  breaking  out,  and 
how,  the  instant  it  did  commence,  it  would  be  neces 
sary  for  them,  without  losing  any  time,  to  find  a 
means  of  leaving  Russia.  All  this  she  told  him, 
as  she  sat  by  his  side,  leaning  her  head  on  his 
shoulder. 

He  listened  to  all  she  said,  his  face  at  moments 
growing  ashy  pale,  and  then  again  flushing  crimson  : 
several  times  he  tried  to  stop  her,  and  at  length, 
pushing  her  gently  from  him,  cried  out  in  an  un 
naturally  strained  voice,  "  Ellen,  leave  me !  for  God's 
sake,  go  away  !  " 


208  On  the  Eve. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise.  "  Do 
you  not  feel  well  ? "  she  quickly  added. 

"Yes,  I  am  quite  well;  but,  I  pray  you,  leave 
me." 

"  I  don't  understand  you.  Do  you  drive  me  from 
you?  What  is  it  you  are  doing?"  she  hastily  ex 
claimed,  as  he  bent  down  from  the  sofa,  and  madly 
pressed  his  lips  to  her  feet.  "  Don't  do  that,  De 
metrius — Demetrius !  " 

He  raised  himself  up.  "  Then  leave  me  !  You 
see  Ellen,  when  I  fell  ill,  I  was  not  at  once  deprived 
of  consciousness :  I  knew  I  was  on  the  brink  of  the 
grave ;  ay,  and  in  all  my  fever  and  in  all  my  wander 
ings  I  knew  and  felt  that  death  was  upon  me,  that  I 
must  bid  farewell  to  life,  to  you,  to  all ;  that  there  was 
no  longer  hope  !  And  then,  this  sudden  resurrection, 
this  light  after  darkness,  you — you — here  by  my  side 
— your  voice,  your  breath, — all  this  is  more  than  I 
can  bear !  I  feel  that  I  love  you  madly ;  I  hear  you 
call  yourself  my  own  ;  I  have  no  command  over  my 
self,  I  cannot  answer  for  anything  !  Leave  me,  then, 
Ellen  !  leave  me  !  " 

"  Demetrius  !"  Ellen  softly  whispered,  nestling  her 
head  on  his  breast.  Now  she  understood  what  he 
meant. 

"  Ellen,"  he  continued,  "  you  know  how  I  love 
you,  you  know  that  I  am  ready  to  lay  down  my  life 
for  you  ;  why,  then,  do  •  you  come  to  me  now,  just 
now  when  I  am  so  weak,  when  I  have  no  power  over 


On  the  Eve.  209 

myself,  when  all  my  blood  boils  within  me  ?     You  are 
mine,  you  say — you  love  me — " 

"  Demetrius  !  "  she  again  exclaimed,  nestling  still 
more  closely  and  fondly  on  his  breast. 

"  Ellen  !  closer,  closer !  Leave  me — and,  I  feel  I 
must  die  ;  I  am  too  weak  to  bear  this  excess  of  joy 
— my  whole  soul  yearns  toward  you — recollect,  once 
already  death  has  all  but  separated  us — and  now,  you 
are  here,  in  my  arms — Ellen  !  dear  Ellen !  " 

She  was  all  trembling  with  emotion.      "Take  me, 
am  I  not  your  own  ? "  she  whispered  in  a  voice  so  low 
and  broken  that  he  could  scarcely  catch  her  words. 
14 


210  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A    DISCOVERY. 

NICHOLAS  ARTEMVITCH,  with  knit  brows, 
was  marching  up  and  down  his  study.  Shou- 
bine,  his  legs  crossed,  was  sitting  by  the  window, 
quietly  smoking  a  cigar. 

"  Do  leave  off,  for  mercy's  sake,  striding  in  that 
fashion  from  one  corner  to  another  !"  he  exclaimed, 
knocking  the  ashes  off  his  cigar.  "  My  neck  quite 
aches  with  hoisting  my  head  about  in  order  to  catch 
what  you  say.  Besides,  there  is  something  affected 
in  your  march  ;  it  is  too  theatrical." 

"  It  is  very  easy  for  you  to  talk,"  answered  Nich 
olas  Artemritch.  "  You  do  not  put  yourself  in  my 
position,  you  do  not  remember  that  I  am  accustom 
ed  to  that  woman,  that  I  have  at  last  become  attach 
ed  to  her,  that  her  continued  absence  tortures  me. 
Here  is  October  already,  the  winter  set  in.  What  can 
she  have  to  do  at  Revel  ?  " 

"She  probably  has  to  knit  some  stockings  for 
herself — this  time  for  herself,  not  for  you." 

"You  may  laugh  and  joke  as  you  like,  but  I  tell 
you,  she  is  honesty  and  disinterestedness  personified." 


On  the  Ere.  211 

"  By  the  way,  did  she  sue  you  for  the  payment  of 
that  bill  ?  "  asked  Shoubine. 

"  Her  disinterestedness,"  repeated  Nicholas  Art- 
emvitch,  in  a  louder  tone,  "  is  something  extraordi 
nary.  And  then,  they  tell  me  that  a  million  such 
women,  just  as  good  as  she  is,  can  be  found  in  this 
world  ;  but  I  say,  show  me  the  million ;  show  me  the 
million,  that  is  what  I  say  ;  ces  fcmmcs,  qrfon  me  les 
montre  !  But  not  to  write  to  me,  it  is  terrible  !  " 

"  You  are  getting  eloquent  and  excited,"  observed 
Shoubine  :  "  but  you  know  what  I  would  advise  you 
to  do." 

"  What  ? " 

"  When  Augustina  comes  back — you  understand  ?" 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  " 

"  When  you  see  her — you  follow  the  order  of  my 
ideas  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes  :  what  then  ?  " 

"  Try  the  stick  with  her,  and  see  what  that  will 
do." 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  turned  away  angrily.  "  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  give  me  some  really  useful 
advice.  But  what  can  one  expect  from  him,  an  artist, 
a  man  without  fixed  principles  ?  " 

"A  man  without  fixed  principles  !  Yes,  that  is  the 
favorite  phrase  of  your  new  friend,  Mr.  Cournatov- 
sky,  the  man  of  such  high  principles,  that  only  yester 
day  he  won  a  hundred  roubles  from  you." 

"  Well  !    we    were   playing   at  speculation.      Of 


212  On  the  Eve. 

course  I  had  no  right  to  complain  if  I  lost.  But  there 
is  not  one  of  you  capable  of  appreciating  his  true 
worth." 

"  Of  course,  he  thought — but  let  that  pass  !  "  in 
terrupted  Shoubine.  "  Whether  he  will  be  my  fath 
er-in-law  or  not,  that  is  still  a  mystery  ;  but  a  hundred 
roubles  is  not  a  bad  catch  for  a  man  who  never  takes 
a  bribe." 

"  Father-in-law  !  The  devil  a  father-in-law  !  vous 
revez,  mon  cher.  Certainly,  any  other  girl  would  be  only 
too  glad  to  find  such  a  husband.  Judge  yourself:  af 
fable,  clever,  mixes  with  the  best  people,  has  himself 
been  a  high  dignitary  in  two  of  our  provinces." 

"  Simply  because  the  governor  was  fool  enough  to 
be  led  by  the  nose,"  added  Shoubine. 

"  That  may  be.  There  is  no  other  way  of  manag 
ing  things.  It  only  proves  that  he  is  a  practical 
man — understands  the  world." 

"  And  plays  his  cards  well,"  Shoubine  again 
added. 

'•  Yes,  and  plays  his  cards  well.  But  Ellen  Nich- 
olaevna — it  is  impossible  to  make  her  out.  I  should 
like  to  know  where  the  man  is  who  can  guess  what  it 
is  she  wishes.  To-day  she  is  all  gayety,  to-morrow  as 
dull  as  death :  then  she  all  at  once  grows  ill  and  thin, 
till  you  cannot  bear  to  look  at  her,  and  then  again  she 
is  all  at  once  quite  well :  and  all  these  changes  and 
caprices  are  without  the  slightest  reason." 

At  this  moment  an  ill-looking  lackey  entered  the 


On  the  Eve.  213 

room,  bearing  on  a  tray  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  cream  jug 
and  a  sugar  basin. 

"  The  husband  pleases  the  father,"  continued 
Nicholas  Artemvitch,  brandishing  the  sugar  tongs, 
but  what  does  the  daughter  care  about  that  ?  That 
was  all  very  well  in  the  olden  times,  in  the  patriar 
chal  days,  but  now  it  is  quite  different  Nous  avons 
changes  tout  fa.  Now,  young  ladies  talk  with  whom 
they  like,  read  just  what  they  please,  set  off  alone  to 
Moscow  without  a  servant,  just  as  in  Paris,  and  all  that 
is  comme  il  faut.  A  few  days  ago  I  asked,  where  is 
Ellen  Nicholaeva  ?  I  was  told  she  had  gone  out. 
Where  to  ?  We  don't  know.  What  is  that  ?  is  that 
proper  ?  " 

"  Take  your  cup  of  coffee,  and  send  the  man 
away,"  muttered  Shoubine.  "  You  yourself  say  that 
one  must  not  talk  dtvant  les  doviestiques" 

The  servant  gave  a  sharp  look  at  Shoubine ;  but 
Nicholas  Artemvitch  took  his  cup,  and  poured  some 
cream  into  it,  and  sweetened  his  coffee  with  something 
like  ten  lumps  of  sugar. 

"  I  wish  to  say,"  he  began  as  soon  as  the  lackey 
had  gone  out,  "  that  in  this  house  I  count  for  nobody. 
That  is  the  whole  affair.  In  our  day  every  one  judges 
by  outward  appearance ;  this  man  is  a  stupid,  empty 
fellow,  but  gives  himself  airs,  and  all  respect  him  \ 
but  another,  who  is  clever  it  may  be,  who  might  con 
fer  lasting  benefits  on  his  country,  but  who  is  mod 
est—" 


214  On  the  Eve. 

"  Are  you  going  for  the  statesmanship,  Nicholas 
Artemvitch  ? "  said  Shoubine  in  a  dry  tone. 

"  Enough  of  your  nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Nicho 
las  Artemvitch,  angrily.  "  You  forget  yourself.  You 
yourself  are  a  proof  that  in  this  honse  I  count  for  no 
body  ;  I  am  literally  nobody." 

"  Anne  Vasilievna  bothers  you,  poor  fellow !  "  re 
plied  Shoubine,  drawlingly.  "  Ah,  Nicholas  Artem 
vitch,  you  are  a  sad  sinner !  You  had  far  better  be 
thinking  of  what  present  you  mean  to  make  Anne 
Vasilievna.  In  a  few  days  it  will  be  her  birthday, 
and  you  know  how  she  values  the  least  attention  on 
your  part." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Nicholas  Artemvitch  hurriedly  an 
swered  :  "  I  thank  you  very  much  for  reminding  me. 
Certainly,  certainly.  I  have  a  little  thing  by  me,  a 
little  work  box  I  bought  at  Rosenstrauch's ;  only  I 
don't  know  whether  it  will  suit." 

"  I  suppose  you  bought  it  for  that  Revel  young 
lady  ?  " 

«  Well— yes—  I  had  thought—" 

"  Ah,  then  it  certainly  will  not  do." 

Shoubine  got  up  from  the  chair. 

"  Where  are  you  going  this  evening,  Paul  Jakov- 
levitch?"  Nicholas  Artemvitch  asked  in  a  friendly 
tone. 

"  You  will  be  at  the  club,  I  suppose." 

"  But  after  the  club — after  the  club." 

"  No,  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  no  ;    I  must  work  to- 


On  the  Eve.  215 

morrow.     Another  time  I  shall  be  very  glad."     And 
he  left  the  room. 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  knit  his  brows,  marched 
once  or  twice  up  and  down  the  room,  took  out  of  his 
bureau  the  velvet-covered  work-box,  examined  it  and 
its  contents  for  a  long  time,  and  then,  by  means  of 
the  looking-glass  in  the  lid,  carefully  arranged  his 
thick  black  hair,  nodding  his  head  with  an  air  of 
importance,  first  to  the  right  and  then  to  the  left,  but 
not  taking  his  eyes  off  from  the  part  in  the  middle. 
Some  one  gave  a  slight  cough  from  behind  the  chair 
on  which  he  had  sat  down  ;  he  turned  round,  and 
discovered  the  lackey,  the  same  who  had  served  him 
with  the  coffee. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  him. 

"  Nicholas  Artemvitch !  "  answered  the  lackey  in 
a  solemn  tone ;  "  you  are  our  master." 

"  I  know  that :  what  about  it  ?  " 

"  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  don't  be  angry  with  me ; 
but  I,  having  been  in  your  service  from  my  youth, 
from  my  very  infancy,  out  of  mere  gratitude  ought  to 
tell  you — " 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  " 

"  You  were  pleased  just  now  to  say,"  he  stam 
mered  out,  "that  you  did  not  know  where  Ellen 
Nicholaevna  went  to  a  few  days  ago.  I  can  tell  you 
for  sure." 

"  What  are  you  muttering  about,  you  fool  ? " 

"  As  you  please,  but  four  days  ago  I  saw  her  go 
to  a  certain  house." 


216  On  the  Eve. 

"  Where  ?  who  ?  what  house  ?  " 

"  In  King  Street,  near  the  Povarsky — not  far  from 
here.  I  asked  the  dvornick  who  lived  in  the  house." 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  began  tapping  the  floor  with 
his  foot.  "  Silence,  you  wretched  fool !  How  do  you 
dare  to  say  such  a  thing  ?  Ellen  Nicholaevna,  out. 
of  the  goodness  of  her  heart,  condescends  to  visit 
the  poor ;  and  you — get  out  of  the  room,  you  fool !  " 

The  frightened  lackey  had  already  reached  the 
door. 

"  Stop  !  where  are  you  off  too  ?  "  cried  Nicholas 
Artemvitch.  "  What  did  the  dvornick  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing — nothing;  he  merely  said  that  a  stu — 
a  studen — " 

"  Silence,  you  miserable  fool !  Listen,  if  you  only 
dare  to  breathe  a  syllable  of  this  rubbish  to  any 
one " 

"  Do  you  think " 

"  Silence !  if,  I  say,  you  only  breathe  a  word,  and 
I  hear  of  it,  or  any  one  comes  to  know  of  it —  You 
are  in  my  power,  and  you  shall  never  get  another 
place  as  long  as  you  live.  Do  you  understand  ?  Now, 
go  to  the  devil !  " 

The  lackey  quickly  disappeared. 

"  Good  heavens  !  What  does  it  all  mean  ? " 
thought  poor  Nicholas  Artemvitch  when  he  was  alone. 
"  What  has  this  ass  been  telling  me  ?  I  must  find  out 
what  house  it  is,  and  who  lives  there.  I  must  go  my 
self.  So,  this  is  the  end  of  it  all.  Un  laquais ! 
k  humiliation  !  " 


On  the  Eve.  217 

And  repeating  aloud  the  words,  un  laquais  !  Nich 
olas  Artemvitch  put  the  work-box  back  into  the  bu- 
reau,  and  went  to  look  for  Anne  Vasilievna.  He 
found  her  in  bed  with  a  bound-up  face,  but  the  sight 
of  her  sufferings  only  angered  him  the  more,  and  he 
soon  succeeded  in  working  her  up  to  a  state  of  the 
utmost  excitement  and  alarm. 


2i 8  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE      STORM      BURSTS. 

IN  the  meanwhile  the  storm  which  had  long  been 
gathering  in  the  East,  burst  forth.  Turkey  had 
already  declared  war  against  Russia ;  the  time  fixed 
for  the  evacuation  of  the  Principalities  had  elapsed  ; 
the  day  destined  to  witness  the  destruction  of  Sinope 
was  close  at  hand.  The  last  few  letters  received  by 
Insaroff  urgently  impressed  upon  him  the  necessity 
of  immediately  setting  out  for  Bulgaria.  His  health 
was  far  from  being  re-established,  he  still  had  a  nasty 
cough  hanging  about  him,  was  excessively  weak,  and 
had  slight  symptoms  of  an  attack  of  consumption. 
But  in  spite  of  all  this  he  was  rarely  at  his  rooms. 
His  mind  was  so  strongly  excited  by  the  news  from 
home  that  he  had  no  time  to  think  of  illness.  He 
was  perpetually  riding  from  one  end  of  Moscow  to 
the  other,  visiting  in  secret  his  different  Bulgarian 
friends  ;  he  would  sit  up  whole  nights  writing  letters, 
and  for  entire  days  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  He 
had  informed  the  landlord  of  his  intention  to  quit 
his  lodging  before  long,  and  at  the  same  time  made 
him  a  present  of  his  somewhat  cumbersome  furni- 


On  the  Eve.  219 

ture.  Nor  was  Ellen,  for  her  part,  less  busy  in  mak 
ing  preparations  for  an  immediate  departure.  One 
rainy  evening  she  was  sitting  in  her  little  room,  hem 
ming  a  pocket-handkerchief,  listening,  as  she  worked, 
with  an  involuntary  feeling  of  sadness,  to  the  howl 
ing  wind.  Her  musings  were  interrupted  by  the  en 
trance  of  a  servant,  who  told  her  that  her  father 
wished  to  speak  with  her  in  her  mother's  bedroom. 
"  Mamma  is  weeping,"  she  added  as  Ellen  was  leav 
ing  the  room,  "  and  your  papa  is  in  a  terrible  rage." 
Ellen  slightly  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  hur 
ried  to  Anne  Vasilievna's  bedroom.  Nicholas  Artem- 
vitch's  simple-souled  wife  was  reclining  languidly  in 
a  folding-chair,  and  holding  to  her  nose  a  handker 
chief  strongly  scented  with  eau  de  Cologne.  He 
himself  was  standing  before  the  fire-place,  every  but 
ton  of  his  military  coat  duly  and  tightJy  fastened,  in 
a  high  tight  cravat  and  stiffly  starched  collar,  hav 
ing  evidently  got  himself  up  in  his  favorite  pose  of  a 
parliamentary  orator.  With  an  oratorical  wave  of 
the  hand  he  motioned  his  daughter  to  a  chair,  and 
when  she,  failing  to  understand  his  meaning,  looked 
up  inquiringly  into  his  face,  he  said  in  the  most  dig 
nified  of  manners,  "  I  pray  you  to  be  seated."  Nich 
olas  Artemvitch  always  said  "you  "  to  his  wife,  but 
to  his  daughter  only  on  extraordinary  occasions.* 

*  In  Russian,  as  in  most  modern  languages,  "  thou  "  is  used 
in  addressing  near  relations,  or  those  who  are  inferior  in  social 
rank. 


220  On  the  Eve. 

Ellen  sat  down.  Anne  Vasilievna  gave  a  tearful 
sniffle,  and  Nicholas  Artemvitch  put  his  right  hand 
between  the  two  centre  button-holes  of  his  coat. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  Ellen  Nicholaevna,"  he  be 
gan  after  an  effective  silence,  "  that  I  may  have  an 
explanation  with  you,  or  I  should  rather  say,  to  de 
mand  an  explanation  from  you.  I  am  dissatisfied 
with  your  conduct — or  no,  that  is  saying  too  little ; 
your  conduct  has  deeply  grieved  me,  has  shocked  me 
— me  and  your  mother — your  mother,  whom  you  see 
before  you." 

In  delivering  this  speech  Nicholas  Artemvitch 
used  only  the  deepest  bass  notes  of  his  voice.  Ellen 
silently  glanced,  first  at  him,  and  then  at  Anne  Vas 
ilievna,  and  became  deadly  pale. 

"  There  was  a  time,"  continued  Nicholas  Artem 
vitch,  "  when  daughters  trermbled  in  the  presence  of 
their  parents  :  when  parental  authority  was  revered 
and  feared.  Those  times  are  past,  unfortunately  (so 
at  least  many  think)  ;  but  you  must  know  that  we 
have  still  laws  that  do  not  permit — that  do  not  per 
mit — in  one  word  we  have  still  laws.  I  beg  of  you 
to  pay  attention  to  that  fact,  we  have  still  laws — " 

"  But,  dear  papa,"  Ellen  began. 

"  No  interruption,  I  pray.  Let  us  turn  our  thoughts 
to  the  past.  I  and  Anne  Vasilievna,  we  have  fulfilled 
our  duty.  I  and  Anne  Vasilievna,  we  have  spared 
nothing  in  the  way  of  expense  or  trouble  to  give  you 
a  sound  education.  What  profit  you  have  made  from 


On  the  Eve.  221 

that  education  is  another  question.  j3ut  I  had  the 
right  to  think — I  and  Anne  Vasilievna,  we  had  the 
right  to  believe,  that  you  would  sacredly  observe  those 
laws  of  morality  which — which  we  imparted  to  you 
as  our  only  daughter,  which,  in  a  word,  que  nous  vous 
avons  inculques.  We  had  a  right  to  hope  that  no  new 
'  ideas '  would  ever  undermine  your  faith  in  these,  so 
to  say,  sacred  principles.  But  what  has  happened  ? 
I  do  not  now  speak  of  any  thoughtlessness  that  might 
be  excused  as  natural  to  your  sex,  natural  to  your  age  ; 
— but  who  could  have  expected  that  you  would  so  far 
forget  yourself — " 

"  Papa  !"  interrupted  Ellen,  "  I  know  what  it  is 
you  wish  to  say." 

"  No,  you  do  not  know  what  I  wish  to  say  !"  Nich 
olas  Artemvitch  cried  out  in  a  shrill  voice,  for  the  mo 
ment  forgetting  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  his  par 
liamentary  pose,  and  speaking  in  a  stern  bass  tone ; 
"  you  do  not  know,  you  wretched  child !" 

"  For  God's  sake,  speak  more  calmly,  Nicholas," 
simpered  Anne  Vasilievna;  "  Vous  me  faites  mourir" 

"Don't  tell  me,  Anne  Vasilievna,  que  je  vous  fais 
mourir !  You  have  no  idea  what  horrors  you  will 
hear  in  an  instant.  I  can  only  warn  you  to  prepare 
yourself  for  the  worst." 

Anne  Vasilievna  sank  back  in  quiet  despair. 

"  No,"  said  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  turning  to  Ellen, 
"you  do  not  know  what  it  is  I  wish  to  say !  " 

"I  am  to  blame — "  she  began  in  a  low  tone. 


222  On  the  Eve. 

"  Ah,  at  last !  " 

"I  am  to  blame,"  Ellen  went  on,  "in  that  I  did 
not  long  ago  confess — " 

"  Do  you  know,  interrupted  Nicholas  Artemvitch, 
that  by  one  single  word  I  can  cover  you  with  confu 
sion  ?  " 

Ellen  raised  up  her  head,  and  looked  inquiringly 
at  him. 

"  Yes,  Miss,  with  one  word  !  Do  not  look  at  me 
in  that  way."  He  crossed  his  hands  over  his  breast. 
"  Allow  me  to  ask  you  whether  you  know  a  certain 
house  in  King  Street,  not  far  from  the  Povarsky." 
Each  word  he  spoke  was  marked  by  a  stamp  of  the 
foot.  "  Answer  me,  you  worthless  child,  and  no  eva 
sions  !  People,  common  people,  the  very  servants, 
des  vils  laquais,  Miss,  have  seen  you  go  there,  have 
seen  you  go  to  visit  your — " 

Ellen's  eyes  sparkled  with  anger,  and  her  whole 
face  crimsoned.  "  I  have  no  wish  to  tell  a  falsehood," 
she  answered ;  "  it  is  quite  true,  I  have  been  to  that 
house." 

"  Very  good  !  You  hear,  you  hear,  Anne  Vasiliev- 
na  ?  And,  perhaps,  you  know  who  lives  there  ?" 

"  Yes  I  do  .;  my  husband." 

Nicholas  Artemvitch's  eyes  almost  started  out  of 
his  head.  "  Your  what  ?" 

"  My  husband,"  Ellen  repeated.  "  I  am  married 
to  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch  Insaroff." 

"You  ! — married  ?''  stammered  Anne  Vasilievna. 


On  the  Eve.  223 

"  Yes,  mamma.  Pardon  me.  We  were  married 
secretly  a  fortnight  ago." 

Anne  Vasilievna  fell  back  in  her  chair ;  Nicholas 
Artemvitch  strode  two  steps  forward. 

"  Married  !  to  that  vile  beggar  of  a  Montenegrian  ! 
The  daughter  of  Nicholas  StachofT,  of  the  old  nobili 
ty  of  Russia,  married  to  a  vagabond,  to  a  plebeian ! 
Without  her  parents'  blessing !  And  you  think  that 
such  a  marriage  will  stand  good,  that  I  shall  not  com 
plain,  that  I  will  allow  you — that  you — that  I ? 

You  will  be  sent  to  a  monastery,  and  he  to  the  gal 
leys,  aux  travaux  forces.  Anne  Vasilievna,  be  good 
enough  to  tell  her  this  moment  that  she  is  disinher 
ited,  is  no  daughter  of  yours." 

"  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  for  God's  sake,  spare  me  !" 
groaned  Anne  Vasilievna. 

"  And  when,  in  what  manner,  was  all  this  done  ? 
Who  married  you  ?  where  ?  how  ?  Good  heavens  ! 
what  will  all  my  friends  say  ?  what  a  scandal !  And  you, 
you  shameless  imp,  you  dared  after  such  a  crime  to 
live  quietly  beneath  your  parents'  roof  !  Did  you  not 
fear  that  God's  thunder  might  strike  you  dead  ?" 

"•Papa  !"  said  Ellen,  whilst  her  whole  body  trem 
bled,  though  her  voice  was  firm  and  steady ;  "  you  are 
free  to  do  with  me  as  it  pleases  you ;  but  you  wrong 
me  when  you  accuse  me  of  shamelessness  and  false 
hood.  I  did  not  wish  to  grieve  you  unnecessarily,  but 
in  a  few  days  I  must  have  told  you  all,  since  next 
week  I  am  going  away  from  here  with  my  husband." 


224  On  the  Eve. 

"  Going  away  ?     Where  to  ?  " 

"  To  his  home,  to  Bulgaria." 

"  To  the  Turks  !  "  cried  Anne  Vasilievna,  and  fell 
back  unconscious. 

Ellen  hurried  towards  her  mother. 

"  Away !  "  cried  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  seizing  his 
daughter  by  the  hand  :  "  away  !  you  worthless  child  !  " 

But  at  this  moment  the  door  opened  and  a  pale 
face  with  flashing  eyes  was  seen  peeping  in.  It  was 
Shoubine. 

"  Nicholas  Artemvitch  ?  "  he  bawled  at  the  top  of 
his  voice, "  Augustina  has  come  back,  and  wants  to 
speak  to  you  !  " 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  turned  angrily  round,  pushed 
Shoubine  out  of  the  room,  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
and  then  hurried  after  him. 

Ellen  fell  down  before  her  mother,  and  clasped 
her  knees. 

Urban  Ivanovitch  was  lying  in  bed.  A  colorless 
shirt,  fastened  with  a  capacious  round  button,  encir 
cled  his  full  neck,  and  fell  in  wide,  easy  folds  over 
his  breast,  which  was  almost  womanly  in  its  softness 
and  whiteness,  leaving  exposed  to  view  a  small  cypress 
cross  which  he  constantly  wore.  A  thin  sheet  covered 
his  out-stretched  legs.  A  candle  was  burning  dimly 
on  a  small  night  table,  on  which  stood  a  jug  of  beer, 
and  on  the  bed,  at  Urban's  feet,  Shoubine  was  sitting 
and  talking. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  in  a  thoughtful  tone,  "  She  is  mar- 


On  the  Eve.  225 

ried,  and  intends  leaving  us.  Your  nephew  was  furi 
ous,  and  bellowed  through  the  whole  house ;  he  shut 
the  bedroom  door,  to  keep  it  all  secret,  but  ranted  so 
furiously  that  not  only  the  servants  in  the  kitchen,  but 
the  very  coachman  in  the  stables,  could  hear  every 
word  he  said.  And  he  is  still  fuming  and  declaim 
ing — all  but  quarelled  with  me — and,  like  a  bear  beat 
ing  a  drum,  tries  to  frighten  us  all  with  a  father's 
curse ;  but  all  the  while  he  means  nothing.  Anne 
Vasilievna  is  half  dead,  though  it  is  her  daughter's 
journey  to  Bulgaria,  rather  than  her  secret  marriage, 
that  grieves  her." 

Urban  Ivanovitch  was  all  the  time  playing  nervous 
ly  with  his  fingers.  "  A  mother."  he  at  last  remarked, 
"a  mother  ;  well,  you  know." 

"  Your  nephew,"  continued  Shoubine,  "  swore  he 
would  complain  to  the  archbishop,  the  governor- 
general,  the  prime  minister,  and  I  know  not  who  else; 
but  the  end  of  it  all  is,  that  she  is  going  away.  It  is 
not  easy  to  ruin  the  future  of  one's  own  daughter. 
There  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  give  a  loud  crow,  and 
then  to  drop  one's  tail !  " 

"  True,  they  have  not,"  sagely  observed  Urban 
Ivanovitch,  and  without  finishing  his  sentence  turned 
to  the  beer  jug. 

"  So,  so.     And   then,  what  a  host  of  calumnies 

these  Moscow  chatterboxes  will  spread  abroad  !    But 

she  does  not  fear  them  ;  she  is  far  above  them.     She 

is  going  away — but  where  to  ?  it  is  horrible  to  think 

15 


226  On  tJic 


of  !  Such  an  out-of-the-way  place,  altogether  out  of 
the  civilized  world  !  What  a  destiny  !  I  think  I  see 
her  on  the  road,  just  setting  off  from  some  station,  in 
the  middle  of  the  night,  in  a  thick  snow-storm,  thirty 
degrees  below  the  freezing-point.  To  be  separated 
forever  from  her  countrymen,  her  family,  from  all  ! 
But  I  understand  how  it  has  come  about.  What  is 
there  to  keep  her  here  ?  What  friends  has  she  ? 
Cournatovsky,  Bersieneff,  and  our  good  friend  who  is 
the  best  of  them  all.  Why,  then,  pity  her  ?  There  is 
only  one  bad  thing  in  this  business  ;  they  say  her  hus- 
hancl  —  Devil  take  it  !  how  that  word  sticks  in  the 
throat  !  —  they  say  Insaroff  spits  blood  ;  that's  a  bad 
sign.  I  saw  him  a  few  days  ago  :  his  face  a  perfect 
model  for  the  face  of  Brutus.  You  know  who  Bru 
tus  was,  Urban  Ivanovitch  ?  " 

"How  should  I  know?  I  suppose  he  was  a 
man." 

"Just  so,  '  he  was  a  man?  Yes,  a  remarkable  face, 
but  unhealthy  —  terribly  unhealthy." 

"  Just  as  good  for  fighting,"  laconically  observed 
Urban. 

"  It  may  be  for  fighting,  and  I  don't  dispute  the 
justice  of  your  remark,  but  it  is  not  just  as  good  for 
living,  and  I  suppose  they  wish  to  live  together,  not 
merely  die." 

"  Living  !  that  is  a  question  of  youth  —  constitu 
tion  !  "  remarked  Urban. 

"  Yes  ;  youth,  fame,  courage,  make  up  life.     But 


On  the  Eve 

death,  life,    strife,    quarrels,   triu 

slavery  !— well,  well,  such  is  the  lot 

is  no  reason  for  sitting  up  to  your  neck  in 

trying  to  look  as  if  it  were  all  the  same  to  you,  when 

it  is  very  far  from   being  a  matter  of  indifference. 

And  there — life  hangs  on  a  thread  that  may  snap  at 

any  moment !  " 

Shoubine  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Besides,"  he  continued  after  a  long  silence"In- 
saroff  is  not  worthy  of  her.  But  that's  nonsense  ! 
No  one  is  worthy  of  her.  Insaroff — Insaroff — What's 
the  good  of  false  humility  ?  Let  us  grant  that  he  is 
young,  lives  honorably,  though  up  to  now  he  has  been 
exactly  like  any  of  us  poor  sinners,  still,  after  all,  are 
we  really  so  little  worth  ?  What  do  you  say,  Urban 
Ivanovitch,  am  I  really  good  for  nothing  at  all  ?  Has 
God  then  been  really  so  miserly  towards  me  ?  Has 
He  endowed  me  with  no  capacities,  with  no  talents  ? 
Who  knows,  but  that  the  name  of  Paul  Shoubine  may 
in  time  become  illustrious  ?  Look  at  that  copper 
penny  lying  there  on  your  table.  Who  knows,  but 
that  in  a  future  century  it  may  be  worked  into  a  statue 
raised  up  to  the  memory  of  Paul  Shoubine  by  an  ad 
miring  and  grateful  posterity  ?  " 

Urban  Ivanovitch  raised  himself  up  slightly  in  the 
bed,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  enthusiastic  artist. 
"The  old  singers,"  he  at  last  remarked,  playing  with 
his  fingers  as  usual,  "  chose  other  themes ;  but  you, 
yourself — nothing  more." 


228  On.  the  Eve. 

"  Oh,  illustrious  philosopher  of  Russia  !  "  cried 
Shoubine ;  "  each  word  of  yours  is  pure  gold.  Not 
to  me,  but  to  you,  will  be  erected  the  statue,  I  will 
model  it  myself.  Just  as  you  are  lying  now,  in 
that  exquisite  pose,  wherein  are  blended  both  dig 
nity  and  ease, — I  will  take  you  so.  You  have  justly 
reproved  me  for  my  egotism  and  self-love.  What 
avails  it  to  speak  of  ourselves  ?  what  profit  is  there  in 
all  our  boasting  ?  There  is  nothing  good  in  any  one 
of  us  ;  search  where  you  will,  you  will  not  find  a  man 
among  us  all.  We  are  all  of  us  mere  sprats  and 
worms ;  either  mooning  Hamlets,  grovelling  and 
crawling  between  heaven  and  earth ;  or  else  noisy 
charlatans,  beating  an  empty  drum  with  a  rotten  stick. 
And  while  we  are  such  as  these,  why  probe  and  dis 
cover  our  very  soul's  innermost  workings  ?  to  what 
end  scrutinize  our  every  feeling  and  sentiment  ?  merely 
to  say  at  the  last,  This  is  what  I  am,  thus  I  feel,  and 
thus  I  think  !  Useful,  practical  study !  No,  if  by 
chance  there  be  among  us  all  one  that  is  really  good, 
let  us  take  good  care  that  this  pure  being  do  not 
escape  us,  do  not  wriggle  out  of  the  net  like  a  fish 
into  the  open  sea  !  What  do  you  say,  Urban  Ivano- 
vitch  ?  When  will  our  time  come  ?  When  will  there 
be  men  among  us  ?  " 

"Give  us  time,"  answered  Urban  Ivanovitch; 
"  they  will  come  !  " 

"They  will  come!  Solid  reasoner !  Profound 
philosopher  !  You  have  said,  it  shall  be.  Mark  well, 


On  the  Eve.  229 

sage  thinker,  thy  words  shall  be  written  down.     But 
what  are  you  putting  out  the  light  for  ?  " 
"  I  want  to  go  to  sleep  :  good-night." 


230  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MATERNAL     AFFECTION. 

OIHOUBINE  was  right.  The  unexpected  news 
**-)  of  Ellen's  marriage  almost  killed  poor  Anne 
Vasilievna.  She  became  seriously  ill,  and  was  obliged 
to  keep  her  bed.  Nicholas  Artemvitch  forbade  her 
to  see  her  daughter ;  he  was  almost  glad  of  this  un 
looked-for  opportunity  of  showing  off  his  authority 
as  master  of  the  house,  and  became  unusually  noisy 
and  severe  toward  all  the  servants,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"I  will  let  you  know  who  I  am,  you  had  better  take 
care  ! "  Therefore  while  he  was  at  home  Anne  Vas 
ilievna  could  not  see  Ellen,  and  was  obliged  to  be 
contented  with  the  company  of  Zoe,  who,  to  tell  the 
truth,  attended  her  with  the  greatest  care,  but  fre 
quently  muttered  to  herself,  ^  Die  sen  Insaroff  vor- 
ziehen — and  wem  ? "  But  no  sooner  was  Nicholas 
Artemvitch  out  of  the  house — and  he  was  now  sel 
dom  at  home,  for  Augustina  had  really  come  back 
from  Revel — than  Ellen  flew  down  to  her  mothers 
room,  and  poor  Anne  Vasilievna  would  look  at  her 
long,  silently,  and  in  tears.  This  dumb  reproach 
smote  Ellen's  heart  far  more  keenly  than  all  hei 


On  the  Eve.  231 

father's  noisy  taunts  ;  she  did  not  once  repent  what 
she  had  done,  but  she  experienced  a  deep  and  intense 
sorrow  that  was  strangely  akin  to  repentance. 

"  Mamma  !  darling  mamma  !  "  she  would  repeat 
as  she  fondly  , stroked  her  mother's  hand  :  "  What 
could  I  do  ?  I  was  not  to  blame ;  I  loved  him  so 
dearly  that  I  could  not  act  otherwise.  Fate  is  to  blame 
for  uniting  me  with  a  man  whom  papa  does  not  like, 
and  who  will  take  me  away  from  you." 

"  For  mercy's  sake,"  sighed  Anne  Vasilievna, 
"  don't  remind  me  of  that.  My  heart  sinks  within  me 
every  time  I  think  of  where  you  are  going  to." 

"  Dear  mamma,"  answered  Ellen,  "  you  must  recol 
lect  it  might  have  been  much  worse.  Suppose  I  had 
died." 

"  Then  I  should  have  no  hopes  of  ever  seeing  you 
again,  and  it  is  just  so  now.  Either  you  will  die  out 
there,  somewhere,  in  a  filthy  hut," — Anne  Vasilievna's 
ideas  of  Bulgaria  seemed  to  be  that  it  was  something 
like  the  most  distant  of  the  Siberian  colonies,  only 
much  worse, — "  or  else  I  shall  not  long  survive  our 
parting." 

"  Don't  talk  so,  dear  mamma ;  we  shall  see  each 
other  again.  Besides,  in  Bulgaria  there  are  large 
cities,  just  as  there  are  here." 

"  What  kind  of  cities,  pray  ?  Then  there  is  war 
going  on  there ;  and  go  where  you  will,  I  fancy  you 
will  find  all  has  been  shot  down  and  destroyed.  You 
mean  to  go  very  soon  ?  " 


232  On  the  Eve. 

"  Very  soon — if  only  papa —  You  know  he  threat 
ened  to  complain,  and  to  get  us  stopped." 

Anne  Vasilievna  raised  her  eyes  toward  heaven. 
"  No,  Nell,  he  will  make  no  complaint.  I  would  nev 
er  have  consented  to  the  wedding,  I  would  rather 
have  died  first.  But  what  is  done  cannot  be  undone  ; 
and  I  will  take  care  that  my  daughter's  name  is  not 
made  public." 

So  passed  a  few  wretched  days.  At  last  Anne 
Vasilievna  somewhat  recovered  her  strength,  and  one 
evening  was  closeted  with  her  husband  in  her  bed 
room.  All  was  at  once  quiet  and  hushed  throughout 
the  house.  At  first  nothing  was  to  be  heard  ;  but  be 
fore  long  the  harsh  tones  of  Nicholas  Artemvitch's 
voice  were  audible,  and  then  loud  and  angry  exclaim- 
ations,  interrupted  at  times  by  a  woman's  sobbings 
and  ill-repressed  cries.  Shoubine  and  Zoe  had 
already  determined  to  force  their  way  into  the  room, 
but  the  dispute  evidently  grew  less  and  less  violent, 
and  soon  subsided  into  a  quiet  and  ordinary  conver 
sation,  which  was  followed  by  a  long  silence.  This 
silence  was  at  first  interrupted  only  by  hysterical  sighs, 
and  these  before  long  ceased  entirely.  The  grating 
of  a  key  as  it  turned  in  the  lock,  and  the  fall  of  the 
upper  flap  of  the  bureau,  were  then  to  be  heard.  In 
a  few  minutes  the  door  opened,  and  Nicholas  Artem- 
vitch  appeared.  He  looked  sulkily  at  Shoubine  and 
Zoe,  crossed  the  passage,  and  getting  into  a  carriage 
drove  off  to  his  club.  But  Anne  Vasilievna  at  once 


On  the  Eve.  233 

sent  for  Ellen,  received  her  with  a  warm  and  long 
embrace,  and  bursting  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears, 
exclaimed, — 

"  It's  all  arranged,  there  will  be  no  complaint,  and 
there  is  nothing  now  to  hinder  you  from  setting  off, 
and  casting  us  off  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"You  will  allow  Demetrius  to  come  and  thank 
you,"  Ellen  asked  her  mother,  as  soon  as  the  latter 
had  grown  a  little  calm. 

"Wait  a  little,  my  love;  just  now  I  have  not 
strength  enough  to  see  the  man  who  robs  me  of  my 
all.  But  I  will  try  before  your  departure." 

"  Before  our  departure,"  sorrowfully  repeated 
Ellen. 

Nicholas  Artemvitch  had  consented  to  make  no 
scandale,  but  Anne  Vasilievna  did  not  think  it  worth 
while  to  tell  her  daughter  at  what  a  price  she  had  been 
obliged  to  buy  his  forbearance.  She  did  not  tell  her 
how  she  had  promised  to  pay  all  his  debts,  and  had 
given  him,  then  and  there,  a  hundred  roubles.  He 
had,  moreover,  declared  to  Anne  Vasilievna  that,  un 
der  no  circumstances,  would  he  see  Insaroff,  whom  he 
to  the  last  designated  as  "  that  beggar  of  a  Montene- 
grian  ; "  but,  on  arriving  at  the  club,  he  of  his  own 
accord  began  speaking  to  his  partner,  a  general  on 
half-pay,  of  Ellen  and  her  marriage.  "By  the  way  " 
he  observed,  in  a  careless  tone  between  the  deals, 
"  you  have  heard  that  my  daughter,  who  is  a  regulai 
bookworm,  has  married  a  university  student  ? "  The 


234  On  the  Eve. 

general  looked  at  him  through  his  spectacles,  mutter 
ed  "  Indeed  1 "  and  then  asked  him  what  were  the 
stakes. 


On  the  JEve.  235 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE     PARTING     HOUR. 

THE  day  of  Ellen's  departure  was  fast  approach 
ing.  November  was  drawing  to  an  end,  and 
in  two  or  three  days  at  the  most,  it  would  be  neces 
sary  to  commence  their  long  journey.  Insaroff  had 
made  all  his  arrangements,  and  was  burning  with  im 
patience  to  leave  Moscow.  The  doctor  too  advised 
him  to  lose  no  time  :  "  You  must  get  to  a  warm  cli 
mate,"  he  told  him  ;  "  here  you  will  never  recover." 
Nor  was  Ellen's  impatience  one  whit  the  less ;  she 
was  disquieted  at  Insaroff 's  paleness  and  weakness. 
She  would  often  gaze  with  trembling  and  fear  on  his 
changed  and  haggard  features.  Moreover,  her  posi 
tion  at  home  began  to  be  insupportable.  Her  mother 
evidently  looked  upon  her  as  a  dead  child,  while  her 
father  treated  her  with  a  cold  disdain.  It  is  true  that 
the  nearness  of  their  separation  was  a  source  of  no 
less  real  grief  to  him  than  to  the  rest ;  but  he  consid 
ered  it  to  be  his  duty,  in  the  character  of  a  wronged 
and  injured  father,  to  hide  his  feelings  and  to  con 
ceal  any  such  weakness.  Anne  Vasilievna  at  last 
consented  to  see  Insaroff.  He  was  introduced  into 


236  On  the  Eve. 

the  house  secretly  through  the  back  entrance.  When 
he  entered  the  room,  she  was  for  a  long  time  unable 
to  utter  a  word,  and  could  not  even  bear  to  look  up 
at  him  ;  he  sat  down  by  her  on  the  sofa,  and,  with  his 
head  bent  down,  waited  till  she  spoke.  Ellen  was 
sitting  on  the  other  side,  holding  her  mother's  hand 
in  her  own.  Anne  Vasilievna  at  length  raised  up  her 
eyes,  and  in  a  low  tone  began,  "  God  be  the  judge  be 
tween  us,  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch — "  and  then  sud 
denly  pausing,  the  reproach  died  upon  her  lips,  and 
she  cried  out,  "  but  you  are  ill !  Ellen  he  is  ill !  " 

"  I  have  been  unwell,  Anne  Vasilievna,"  Insaroff 
answered,  "  and  indeed  am  not  yet  quite  recovered  ; 
but  I  hope  that  my  native  climate  will  soon  set  me  to 
rights  again." 

"  Ah,  Bulgaria  !  "  murmured  Anne  Vasilievna. 
"  Good  God  !  "  she  thought  to  herself,  "  the  Bulgarian 
is  dying ;  his  voice  is  hollow,  his  eyes  sunken ;  he  is 
little  better  than  a  skeleton ;  his  coat  sets  like  a  sack 
upon  him  ;  he  is  all  bones.  And  she  is  his  wife,  she 
loves  him — it  must  be  a  dream,  it  cannot  be."  But 
she  quickly  recovered  herself,  and  added,  "  Deme 
trius  Nikanorovitch,  must  you  really,  really  return  to 
Bulgaria  ? " 

"  I  have  no  choice  ;  I  must  go,  Anne  Vasilievna." 

Anne  Vasilievna's  eyes  slowly  filled  with  tears. 
"Ah,  Demetrius  Nikanorovitch,  God  grant  that  you 
may  never  suffer  as  I  do  now.  But  promise  me,  that 
you  will  never  cease  to  love  her,  that  you  will  take 


On  the  Eve.  237 

care  of  her.  You  will,  of  course  never  suffer  from 
want,  so  long  as  I  live." 

She  could  say  no  more,  but  mutely  extended  her 
arms,  and  clasped  Ellen  and  Insaroif  to  her  breast. 

The  fatal  day  had  arrived.  It  had  been  arranged 
that  Ellen  should  bid  adieu  to  her  parents  at  home, 
but  should  set  off  on  her  long  journey  from  Insaroff's 
lodgings.  Twelve  o'clock  was  the  hour  fixed  for 
their  departure.  At  a  quarter  to  twelve  Bersieneff 
arrived.  He  had  expected  to  find  at  Insaroff's  some 
of  his  compatriots  who  were  to  accompany  him,  but 
they  had  already  left,  as  had  also  those  two  mysteri 
ous  strangers,  of  whom  the  reader  has  already  heard, 
and  who  were  the  witnesses  at  Insaroff's  marriage. 
The  tailor  received  "  the  good  gentleman  "  with  low, 
but  somewhat  unsteady  bows ;  he  had  been  drinking 
heavily  that  morning,  probably  from  grief,  or  it  may 
be  from  joy  at  the  furniture  having  been  given  him. 
His  wife,  like  a  prudent  woman,  very  soon  got  rid  of 
him.  The  room  was  filled  with  packages  ;  a  large 
portmanteau  and  two  corded  boxes  were  standing  on 
the  floor.  Bersieneff  stood  by  the  window  lost  in 
thought;  many  were  the  painful  reminiscences  that 
crowded  on  his  mind. 

Twelve  o'clock  had  struck  long  ago,  and  the  coach 
man  had  already  put  the  horses  to,  but  "  the  young 
couple "  had  not  yet  made  their  appearance.  At 
length  hurried  steps  were  to  be  heard  on  the  stair 
case,  and  Ellen  entered,  accompanied  by  Insaroff  and 


238  On  the  Eve. 

Shoubine.  Her  eyes  were  red  ana  swoiien  ;  she  had 
left  her  mother  in  a  swoon ;  the  parting  had  been  of 
the  most  harrowing  and  painful  kind.  Ellen  had  not 
seen  Bersieneff  for  several  weeks ;  his  visits  to  the 
Stachoffs  had  of  late  been  very  rare.  She  evidently 
did  not  expect  to  see  him,  and  crying  out,  "You  here ! 
that  is  kind  of  you  !  "  threw  herself  on  his  neck.  In- 
saroffalso  embraced  him.  Along  and  sad  silence 
ensued.  What  could  any  of  the  three  say  ?  how 
speak  without  showing  what  each  at  that  moment 
felt  ?  Shoubine  was  first  to  understand  the  necessity 
of  breaking  the  silence,  no  matter  how  his  words 
might  belie  his  real  feelings. 

"  The  trio  has  met  once  more,"  he  said,  "  and  for 
the  last  time.  Let  us  submit  to  the  will  of  fate,  think 
of  the  happiness  we  have  enjoyed  together,  and  God 
give  us  good  fortune  in  our  new  life.  God  be  with 
you,  where'er  you  go  /  "  he  began  singing,  and  then 
stopped.  He  felt  that  it  was  a  desecration  to  sing  in 
the  presence  of  the  dead  ;  and  in  that  moment  the 
past,  of  which  he  had  spoken,  had  died, — the  past  of 
those  three  who  were  there  gathered  together  to  bid 
each  other  a  last  farewell.  True,  it  had  died  but  to 
rise  again  into  a  new  life  ;  but  for  all  that  it  had  none 
the  less  really  died. 

"  Well,  Ellen,"  Insaroff  said,  turning  to  his  wife, 
"  I  think  all  is  ready  now.  Everything  is  paid  and 
settled.  There's  only  this  portmanteau  to  be  carried 
down  stairs.  Landlord  !  " 


On  the  Eve.  239 

The  landlord  came  into  the  room,  together  with 
his  wife  and  daughter.  He  was  not  quite  steady  on 
his  feet,  but  listened  to  Insaroff's  orders,  hoisted 
the  portmanteau  on  his  shoulders,  and  hurried  clamp 
ing  down  stairs. 

Let  us  now,  after  the  Russian  custom,  sit  down,"* 
observed  Insaroff 

They  all  sat  down,  BersienerT  on  the  old  sofa,  Ellen 
by  his  side,  whilst  the  landlady  and  her  daughter 
stood,  with  their  heads  lowly  bent,  on  the  threshold. 
For  a  few  minutes  all  were  silent,  and  then  each 
smiled  at  the  other,  though  none  knew  why  he  smiled. 
Each  wished  to  say  something  by  way  of  farewell ; 
and  each — with  the  exception  of  the  landlady  and  her 
daughter,  who  only  wiped  their  eyes — felt  that  at  such 
a  moment  they  might  be  allowed  to  utter  any  common 
place,  since  any  remark  which  betrayed  either  thought 
or  deliberation  would  be  affected  and  ill-placed.  In 
saroff  was  the  first  to  rise  and  cross  himself.  "  Good 
bye,  little  room  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Then  kisses  were  exchanged,  traditionally  loud 
but  cold  kisses  that  precede  all  partings,  with  kindly 
wishes  for  a  prosperous  journey — those  half-uttered 

*  It  is  customary  in  Russia  for  a  traveller,  before  starting  on 
a  long  journey,  to  assemble  together  his  relations,  friends,  and 
servants,  when  they  all  remain  seated  for  a  few  minutes  in  per 
fect  silence :  each  being  supposed  to  be  engaged  in  prayer  to 
God,  that  He  may  be  pleased  to  bless  the  journey,  and  bring  it 
to  a  successful  issue. 


N 

240  On  the  Eve. 

wishes  that  have  all  the  sound  of  ordinary  speech, 
but  mean  so  much — promises  to  write,  and  the  last 
hurried  words  of  farewell. 

Ellen,  all  in  tears,  had  taken  her  seat  in  the  car 
riage  ;  Insaroff  was  busily  engaged  in  wrapping  her 
feet  up  warm  ;  Shoubine,  Bersieneff,  the  landlord,  his 
wife,  and  his  daughter,  with  the  eternal  handkerchief 
wrapped  round  her  head,  were  all  standing  on  the 
steps,  when  a  richly  caparisoned  sledge  came  full 
gallop  into  the  courtyard,  and  out  of  it,  shaking  the 
snow  off  from  the  collar  of  his  cloak,  leaped  Nicholas 
Artemvitch. 

"  Thank  God  I  am  not  too  late,"  he  cried  as  he 
ran  up  to  their  carnage.  "  Here,  Ellen,  is  our  last  fare 
well  blessing,"  he  said,  taking  out  from  his  pocket  a 
small  crucifix  sewed  on  velvet,  which  he  hung  round 
her  neck.  He  began  to  sob  and  to  kiss  her  hand ; 
the  coachman,  in  the  meanwhile,  dragged  out  from 
sledge-box  a  bottle  of  champagne  and  three  tumblers. 

"  And  now,"  said  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  whilst  the* 
tears  in  large  drops  ran  down  his  cheeks,  "  we  must 
wish  you — drink  to  your — "  He  began  to  pour  out  the 
champagne,  but  his  hands  trembled  so  that  the  wine 
ran  over  on  the  snow.  He  took  one  of  the  tumblers, 
and  gave  the  other  two  to  Ellen  and  Insaroff.  The 
latter  had  already  taken  his  seat  by  her  side.  "  God 
grant  you,"  began  Nicholas  Artemvitch,  but  could  not 
continue ;  he  hurriedly  drank  off  the  wine,  as  did  the 
others.  "  Now  it  is  your  turn,  gentlemen,"  he  con- 


On  the  Eve.  241 

tinued,  turning  to  Shoubine  and  Bersieneff;  but  at 
that  instant  the  coachman  began  whipping  the  horses. 
Nicholas  Artemvitch  ran  alongside  the  carriage  :  "  Do 
not  forget  to  write  to  us,"  he  said  in  a  broken  voice. 
Ellen  put  out  her  head,  cried  out,  "  Good-bye,  papa, 
Andrew  Petrovitch,  Paul  Jokovlevitch  ;  good-bye  all ; 
good-bye,  Russia  !  "  and  sank  back  in  her  seat.  The 
coachman  again  gave  a  whirl  with  his  whip,  and  began 
calling  to  the  horses ;  the  carriage  rolled  out  of  the 
courtyard,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was  out  of  sight. 
16 


242  On  the  Eve. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

A  VISIT  TO  VENICE. 

"TT  was  a  bright  April  day.  Along  the  broad  canal 
-*-  which  separates  Venice  from  the  narrow  strip  of 
sea  sand  that  is  called  Lido,  floated  a  sharp-nosed 
gondola,  whose  easy  motion  answered  to  the  long  and 
regular  sweep  of  the  gondolier's  oar.  Under  its  nar 
row  awning,  on  soft  leather  cushions,  were  reclining 
Ellen  and  Insaroff. 

The  features  of  Ellen's  face  had  scarcely  changed 
since  the  day  of  her  departure  from  Moscow,  but 
their  expression  was  strangely  altered ;  it  had  be 
come  much  more  thoughtful  and  more  severe,  and 
her  eyes  were  more  brilliant  than  before.  Her  whole 
body  was  fresher,  and  her  hair  seemed  to  lie  in 
thicker  and  heavier  folds  over  her  white  forehead  and 
fair  cheeks.  It  was  only  by  her  lips,  when  she  was 
not  smiling,  that  one  could  discern  the  conscious 
presence  of  a  never-ceasing,  secret  care.  The  ex 
pression  of  Insaroff's  face,  on  the  contrary,  was  un 
altered,  but  his  features  were  sadly  changed.  He 
had  grown  thinner,  was  visibly  older,  no  longer  held 
himself  upright,  and  was  deadly  pale :  he  was  con- 


On  the  Eve.  243 

stantly  coughing,  with  a  short  dry  cough,  and  his  eyes 
sparkled  with  an  unnatural  glitter.  On  the  road  from 
Russia,  Insaroff  had  been  laid  up  at  Vienna  for  nearly 
two  months,  and  it  was  already  the  end  of  March  be 
fore  he  and  his  wife  arrived  at  Venice ;  he  hoped,  by 
going  through  Serbia,  to  be  able  before  long  to  reach 
Bulgaria,  that  being  the  only  road  left  open.  War 
was  already  raging  on  the  Danube ;  England  and 
France  had  commenced  hostilities  against  Russia; 
and  the  whole  Sclavonic  race  was  in  a  state  of  excite 
ment,  and  actively  preparing  for  revolt. 

The  gondola  drew  up  at  the  inland  extremity  of 
the  Lido.  Ellen  and  Insaroff  walked  slowly  along 
the  narrow  sand-path,  planted  with  small  half-with 
ered  trees — every  year  fresh  trees  are  planted,  and 
every  year  they  die — which  runs  along  the  Lido  out 
toward  the  sea. 

They  came  to  the  farthest  point.  Before  them 
rolled  the  dark-blue  waves  of  the  Adriatic,  foaming 
and  tossing,  now  rushing  up  to  the  very  shore,  and 
then  with  a  long  roll  scudding  backwards,  leaving  on 
the  sand  tiny  shells  and  tangled  morsels  of  sea-grass. 

"  What  a  dreary  spot !  "  Ellen  said.  "  I  only  fear 
lest  it  may  be  cold  for  you  here ;  but  I  fancy  I  can 
guess  why  you  insisted  on  coming." 

"Cold!  "  Insaroff  quickly  answered,  with  a  forced 
laugh ;  "  I  shall  make  a  fine  soldier,  if  I  am  afraid  of 
a  little  cold.  But  I  have  come  here — I  will  tell  you 
why.  I  look  out  on  that  sea,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 


244  ®n  the  Eve. 

I  am  nearer  to  my  country.  Look,  it  is  there,  in  that 
direction,"  he  continued,  pointing  toward  the  east. 
"And  the  wind  blows  thence." 

"  It's  a  favorable  wind  for  the  ship  you  are  ex 
pecting,  is  it  not?"  asked  Ellen.  « See,  there  is  a 
sail ;  who  knows  but  that  may  be  the  ship  ?  " 

Insaroff  looked  eagerly  at  the  distant  sail  which 
Ellen  had  pointed  out. 

"  Renditch  promised  to  arrange  all  in  a  week,"  he 
replied;  "and  he  is  to  be  depended  on.  Have  you 
heard,  Ellen,"  he  continued  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
with  emotion,  "that  the  poor  Dalmatian  fishermen 
have  given  their  leaden  balls-,you  know,  those  things 
fastened  to  their  nets  to  make  them  sink  to  the  bot 
tom—to  be  turned  into  bullets  ?  They  had  no  money, 
they  live  only  on  what  little  fish  they  can  catch;  but 
they  cheerfully  gave  to  the  good  cause  their  last 
goods,  and  are  now  dying  from  starvation.  A  brave 
people !  " 

1  Aufgepasst  f  "  suddenly  cried  a  stern  voice  from 
behind  them.  The  dull  tread  of  a  horse's  hoofs  was 
to  be  heard,  and  an  Austrian  officer,  before  they  had 
scarcely  found  time  to  move  aside,  galloped  past 
them,  in  a  short  grey  cloak  and  green  casquette. 
Insaroff  looked  gloomily  after  him. 

"  He  is  not  to  blame,"  Ellen  whispered  :  "  you  see, 
there  is  no  foot-path  here." 

"  He  is  not  to  blame,"  repeated  Insaroff.     "  Per 
haps  not,  but  the  sight  of  his  grey  cloak,  and  the 


On  the  Eve.  245 

sound  of  his  grating  voice,  have  made  my  blood  boil 
within  me.  Let  us  turn  back." 

"  Let  us  go,  Demetrius.  It  really  is  too  damp  for 
you  here.  You  recollect,  you  were  too  careless  after 
your  Moscow  illness,  and  suffered  for  it  at  Vienna. 
You  must  be  more  careful  now." 

Insaroff  made  no  reply,  but  his  face  still  wore  a 
gloomy  and  bitter  expression. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  continued  Ellen  :  "  let  us  go 
along  the  Grand  Canal.  Since  we  have  been  here, 
we  have  not  had  a  good  view  of  Venice.  And  in  the 
evening  let  us  go  to  the  theatre  :  I  have  two  tickets 
for  the  boxes.  A  new  opera  is  to  be  given  to-night. 
Let  us  to-day  forget  politics,  the  war,  everything ;  let 
us  think  only  of  ourselves,  that  we  live,  breathe,  care 
only  for  each  other,  that  we  are  one  now  and  for  ever. 
Will  you  Demetrius  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  wish,  Ellen,  I  wish  too." 

"  I  knew  you  would  agree,"  Ellen  replied  with  a 
smile.  "  So  let  us  be  going." 

Whoever  has  not  seen  Venice  in  the  month  of 
April  will  find  it  hard  to  picture  to  himself  the  inde 
scribable  charm  of  this  fairy  city.  The  softness  and 
mildness  of  spring  are  to  Venice,  what  the  bright 
summer  sun  is  to  glorious  Genoa,  or  what  the  purple 
golden  autumn  is  to  ancient  Rome.  Like  spring,  the 
beauty  of  Venice  excites  and  arouses  our  softest  de 
sires  ;  it  animates  and  stirs  the  unspoiled  heart  like 
the  promise  of  some  near,  undefined,  mysterious 


246  On  the  Eve. 

pleasure.  All  is  light  and  clear;  all  is  surrounded 
with  the  dreamy  haze  of  some  baffling  secret;  all  is 
tranquil  and  entrancing;  all,  from  its  very  name 
downwards,  is  womanly,  and  not  without  reason  has 
it  been  baptized  Venice  the  Beautiful.  Its  majestic 
palaces  and  noble  churches  tower  up  with  airy  grace 
fulness,  the  harmonious  creations  of  a  young  god's 
dream;  there  is  something  fairy-like  and  strangely 
bewitching  in  the  greenish-grey  tint  and  in  the  soft 
ripple  of  its  canals,  in  the  noiseless  motion  of  its 
dark- colored  gondolas,  and  in  the  absence  of  all  the 
clamor  and  uproar  of  an  ordinary  city.  "  Venice  is 
dead,  Venice  is  deserted,"  its  inhabitants  will  tell  you  : 
and  it  may  be  that  this  last  of  charms,  the  charm  of 
decay  in  the  very  bloom  and  fulness  of  beauty,  is  also 
there.  To  understand  the  magic  of  this  beauty,  one 
must  see  Venice.  Neither  Canaletti  nor  Guardi — 
not  to  speak  of  our  modern  artists— have  ever  suc 
ceeded  in  portraying  the  soft  silveriness  of  its  sky,  or 
the  shadowy  tints  of  the  distant  horizon,  with  its  mar 
vellous  blending  of  colors  gradually  melting  into  one 
another.  The  man  who  is  already  fagged  out  with 
the  struggles  and  defeats  of  life  will  visit  Venice 
in  vain ;  its  beauty  will  be  as  bitter  to  him  as  the 
memory  of  the  heavenly  dreams  of  his  early  child 
hood  :  but  it  shall  be  sweet  to  him  whose  strength  is 
as  yet  unimpaired,  and  who  feels  himself  to  be  happy  ; 
let  him  sun  his  happiness  beneath  the  sky  of  Venice, 
and,  however  radiant  may  be  his  lot,  it  shall  be  made 


On  the  Eve.  247 

still  more  golden,  still  more  promising,  beneath  that 
kind  and  gentle  light. 

The  gondola  in  which  Ellen  and  Insaroff  had 
again  taken  their  places,  slowly  passed  the  palace  of 
the  Doges,  and  entered  the  Grand  Canal.  Marble 
palaces  succeeded  marble  palaces  on  either  side; 
they  seemed  to  float  quietly  by,  nor  was  there  time  to 
take  in  and  grasp  all  their  varied  beauties.  Ellen 
felt  deeply  happy  ;  in  her  heaven  one  dark  cloud  had 
long  threatened  to  obscure  all  the  light,  but  it  was 
now  fast  dispersing :  Insaroff  was  clearly  much  better 
to-day.  They  slowly  floated  down  as  far  as  the  arch 
es  of  the  Rialto,  and  then  turned  back.  Ellen  feared 
to  enter  any  of  the  churches,  lest  they  should  prove 
too  cold  for  Insaroff,  but  recollected  the  Academy  of 
Fine  Arts,  and  ordered  the  gondolier  to  row  there. 
They  quickly  ran  through  the  different  saloons  of 
this  small  museum.  Not  being  connoisseurs  cr  dilet 
tanti,  they  did  not  stop  before  each  picture,  or  force 
themselves  to  admire  everything  they  saw.  A  kind 
of  unexpected  gladness  had  stolen  over  them  both, 
and  they  found  amusement  in  all  they  met.  It  is  a 
feeling  most  of  us  have  experienced  as  children.  To 
the  great  scandal  of  three  Englishmen,  who  were  n 
the  gallery  at  the  same  time,  Ellen  laughed  till  the 
tears  came  into  her  eyes  at  Tintoretto's  Saint  Mark, 
darting  from  heaven  like  a  frog  in  the  water  to  save 
a  tortured  slave  ;  for -his  part,  Insaroff  was  enthusias 
tic  over  the  vigorous  and  bold  outline  of  the  nobbf 


248  On  the  Eve. 

formed  peasant  in  the  foreground  of  Titian's  Assump 
tion,  who  with  upraised  hands  is  worshipping  the  as 
cending  Madonna;  and  both  were  struck  with  the 
dignity  and  beauty  of  this  same  Madonna  as  she 
rises  calmly  and  majestically  to  be  caught  up  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Father.  On  leaving  the  academy  they 
once  more  came  across  the  three  Englishmen  with 
their  long  hare-like  teeth  and  hanging  whiskers,  and 
they  laughed ;  they  descried  their  gondolier  with  his 
short-tailed  jacket,  and  they  laughed  ;  they  saw  a  sel 
ler  of  old  clothes  carrying  on  his  head  a  little  bundle 
of  grey  wigs,  and  they  laughed  louder  than  before ; 
they  looked  one  another  in  the  face,  and  again  burst 
out  laughing  ;  and  no  sooner  were  they  seated  in  the 
gondola  than  they  warmly  and  affectionately  clasped 
each  other's  hand.  They  landed  at  the  hotel,  ran 
about  their  room  like  two  children,  and  at  last  order 
ed  dinner  to  be  served.  Their  fit  of  gayety  did  not 
abandon  them  at  table.  They  picked  out  the  choicest 
bits  for  one  another,  drank  to  the  health  of  old  Mos 
cow  friends,  applauded  the  waiter  when  he  brought 
in  a  dish  of  tasty  fish,  and  bothered  him  for  some 
fresh />//#/  di  mare;  the  waiter  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  and  scraped  his  feet,  and  went  out  of  the  room 
shaking  his  head ;  once  even  he  muttered  to  himself 
with  a  sigh,  poveretti !  After  dinner  they  set  off  to 
the  theatre. 

The  new  opera,  of  which  Ellen  had  spoken,  was, 
to  tell  the  truth,  common-place  enough,  but  one  which 


On  the  Eve.  249 

has  since  obtained  success  on  every  stage,  and  is 
well  known  to  us  Russians,  Verdi's  Traviata.  The 
season  in  Venice  was  over ;  and  only  second-rate 
singers  took  part  in  the  performance  ;  each,  however, 
cried  and  screamed  to  the  best  of  his  or  her  power. 
The  part  of  Violetta  was  filled  by  an  artist  of  no 
celebrity ;  nor,  to  judge  from  her  cold  reception  by 
the  audience,  was  she  a  favorite,  though  she  was  not 
without  talent.  She  was  a  young,  plain-looking,  dark- 
eyed  girl,  with  an  unequal  and  already  somewhat 
faded  voice.  Her  costume  was  naively  flaunting  and 
in  bad  taste ;  her  hair  was  knotted  up  with  a  flaring 
red  ribbon,  she  wore  a  dress  of  tarnished  blue  satin, 
and  her  arms  were  covered  nearly  up  to  the  elbows 
with  a  pair  of  thick  Swedish  gloves :  but  how  could 
the  daughter  of  a  poor  Bergamo  shepherd  know  the 
mysteries  of  a  Parisian  camelia's  toilette  ?  She  was 
not  quite  at  home  on  the  stage,  but  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  naturalness  and  unaffected  simplicity  in  her 
play,  and  she  sang  \\ith  all  that  passionateness  and 
rhythm  of  expression  which  is  peculiar  to  the  Italians. 
Ellen  and  Insaroff  were  seated  in  a  small  box  close 
to  the  stage,  and  they  were  still  under  the  influence 
of  that  sprightly  mood  which  had  come  over  them  in 
the  Academy  of  Arts.  When  the  father  of  the  young 
man,  who  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  charms  of  the  en 
chantress,  appeared  on  the  stage  in  a  pea-jacket  and 
a  grey  wig,  the  hairs  of  which  stood  on  end,  and, 
having  c  pened  his  mouth,  suddenly  lost  all  his  Cour- 


250  On  the  Eve. 

age,  and  could  only  utter  a  melancholy  bass  tremulo, 
they  could  neither  of  them  refrain  from  laughing. 
But  Violetta's  playing  affected  them  very  differently. 

"  That  poor  girl  gets  very  little  applause,"  said 
Ellen,  "  but  I  prefer  her  a  thousand  times  to  a  con 
ceited  second-rate  celebrity  who  screams,  throws  her 
self  about,  and  gives  grand  flourishes,  merely  to  pro 
duce  effect.  But  here  there  is  no  acting  ;  just  look, 
she  pays  no  attention  to  the  public." 

Insaroff  leaned  over  the  box,  and  looked  attentive 
ly  towards  Violetta.  "  Yes,"  he  answered  in  a  low 
voice,  "  she  is  not  merely  acting — death  is  really  upon 
her." 

Ellen  made  no  reply.  The  curtain  now  rose,  and 
the  third  act  commenced.  Ellen  shuddered  at  the 
sight  of  the  bed,  the  drawn  curtains,  the  side-table 
covered  with  medicine  bottles,  and  the  shaded  lamp. 
Did  they  recall  to  her  mind  the  last  few  mournful 
months  ?  "  And  the  future  ?  and  the  present  ?"  she 
thought  to  herself.  As  if  in  response  to  the  actress's 
assumed  cough,  there  was  heard  in  the  box  Insaroff 's 
dry  hacking  cough.  Ellen  furtively  looked  up  at  him, 
but  immediately  forced  her  features  into  an  expres 
sion  of  quiet  contentment.  The  look,  however,  did 
not  escape  Insaroff,  who  began  half-laughingly  to  hum 
the  air  that  was  at  that  moment  being  sung. 

But  he  was  soon  quiet.  Viqletta's  acting  became 
each  instant  better  and  freer.  She  had  lost  all  timid 
ity,  cast  aside  every  mannerism,  and — greatest  tri- 


On  the  Eve.  251 

umph  for  an  artist,  was  herself.  She  had  suddenly 
passed  that  limit  which  it  is  impossible  to  define,  but 
beyond  which  is  the  province  of  the  beautiful.  The 
audience,  taken  by  surprise,  became  less  apathetic, 
and  began  to  listen  with  sympathy  and  interest.  In 
spite  of  her  plainness,  and  in  spite  of  her  broken 
voice,  she  had  them  now  at  her  command,  and  had 
touched  their  hearts.  In  truth,  her  voice  no  longer 
sounded  as  if  broken,  but  there  was  passion  and 
strength  in  its  every  note.  Alfredo  appeared,  and 
Violetta's  delirious  shout  of  joy  all  but  provoked  that 
storm  of  applause  which  is  called  fanatismo^  but 
which  has  no  parallel  among  our  colder  audiences  of 
the  north. 

A  few  moments  passed,  and  the  audience  were 
again  as  cold  as  ever.  Then  began  the  duo,  the 
finest  piece  in  the  whole  opera,  in  which  the  com 
poser  has  succeeded  in  expressing  all  the  bitter  regrets 
of  a  life  that  has  been  madly  thrown  away,  the  last 
struggle  between  despair  and  powerless  love.  Car 
ried  away  and  overpowered  by  the  impulse  of  a  com 
mon  feeling,  Violetta,  with  tears  of  pride  in  her  art 
mingled  with  tears  of  actual  suffering,  surrendered 
herself  to  the  passion  that  thus  strongly  possessed 
her,  and  her  countenance  became  transfigured,  as,  in 
presence  of  the  threatening  signs  of  fast  approaching 
death,  the  words,  Lascia  mi  vivere — morir  si  giovane^ 
were  rung  forth  from  her  lips  with  an  agony  that 
seemed  to  pierce  the  very  heavens,  and  the  whole 


252  On  the  Eve. 

theatre  burst  out  into  one  loud  tumult  of  genuine  and 
enthusiastic  applause. 

Ellen  -involuntarily  trembled  as  she  heard  those 
words.  She  began  silently  feeling  for  Insaroff's  hand, 
found  it,  and  pressed  it  tightly  in  her  own.  He  re 
sponded  to  her  clasp,  but  neither  did  she  venture  to 
look  at  him,  nor  he  at  her.  How  unlike  this  clasp 
was  to  that  fond  and  careless  one  which  they  had  given 
each  other  on  the  gondola  ! 

They  returned  to  their  hotel  by  the  Grand  Canal. 
Night  had  already  set  in,  a  clear  soft  night.  The 
palaces  they  passed  were  the  same  they  had  seen  be 
fore,  but  appeared  to  be  quite  different.  Those  on 
which  the  moon  shone  seemed  to  be  bathed  in  a 
golden  light  and  in  this  light  all  details  of  ornament 
and  outlines  of  windows  or  balconies  were,  as  it 
were,  lost :  these  could  only  be  discerned  in  those 
buildings  which  stood  shrouded  in  the  light  veil  of 
the  evening's  shade.  The  gondolas,  with  their  tiny 
red  lamps,  seemed  to  move,  if  possible,  more  silently 
and  more  swiftly  than  in  the  day-time  ;  their  polished 
steel  beaks  glittered  above  the  stream ;  and  silvery 
sprays,  as  they  fell  from  the  dripping  .oars,  sparkled 
in  the  moonshine,  whilst  the  hum  of  the  gondoliers — 
was  the  only  sound  to  break  the  silence  that  prevailed 
around  them.  The  hotel  at  which  Ellen  and  Insa- 
roff  were  staying  was  situated  on  the  Riva  del  Schia- 
voni  ;  on  their  way  to  it  they  got  out  of  the  gondola, 
and  strolled  several  times  round  the  square  of  St. 


On  the  Eve.  253 

Mark,  under  the  arcades,  where  a  number  of  gay  par 
ties  were  assembled  in  front  of  different  restaurants. 
There  is  something  peculiarly  pleasant  in  thus  stroll 
ing  about,  in  company  with  one  who  is  clear  to  us, 
among  a  crowd  of  strangers  in  a  strange  city ;  all 
seems  to  us  to  be  beautiful  and  to  invite  our  admira 
tion  ;  we  wish  every  one  of  those  strangers  to  share 
in  our  peace,  joy,  and  good-fortune.  But  Ellen  found 
it  difficult  to  abandon  herself  to  this  feeling  of  happi 
ness  ;  her  heart,  still  under  the  fresh  impression  of 
the  sorrows  of  Violetta,  was  sadly  disturbed  ;  and  In- 
saroff,  as  they  passed  the  Doge's  palace,  pointed  si 
lently  to  the  mouths  of  the  Austrian  cannons  peering 
out  from  its  lower  vaults,  and  at  the  same  time 
brusquely  pulled  his  hat  over  his  brows.  Soon  after 
wards  he  began  to  feel  tired,  and  so,  with  a  last  glance 
at  St.  Mark's  and  its  cupola,  the  lofty  pinnacle  of 
which  glittered  in  the  rays  of  the  full  moon  like  a  ball 
of  phosphoric  light,  they  slowly  turned  homewards. 

Their  little  room  looked  out  on  the  broad  laguna 
that  stretches  from  the  Riva  del  Schiavoni  to  the  Giu- 
decco.  Nearly  opposite  to  their  hotel  rose  up  the 
sharp-pointed  tower  of  St.  George  ;  on  the  right,  high 
up  in  the  air,  glittered  the  golden  dome  of  the  Doge's 
palace ;  a  little  farther  on  stood  the  prettiest  of  all 
churches,  richly  adorned  like  some  fair  bride,  the 
church  of  the  Redemption;  on  the  left  were  to  be 
seen  the  black  masts  and  rigging  of  ships  and  the 
funnels  of  steamboats,  or  a  sail,  looking  like  a  huge 


254  On  the  Eve. 

wing,  hoisted  half-mast,  or  a  ship's  pennon  fluttering 
idly  in  the  breeze.  Insaroff  sat  down  by  the  open 
window,  but  Ellen  did  not  allow  him  to  remain  there 
long ;  he  became  all  at  once  feverishly  hot,  and  grew 
so  weak  that  he  was  obliged  to  lie  down.  Ellen  took 
his  place,  and  sat  quietly  by  the  window  till  he  fell 
asleep.  How  quiet  and  calm  was  the  night !  how  soft 
and  gentle  the  air  !  It  seemed  as  though  the  bitterest 
of  sufferings  and  the  acutest  of  pains  could  not  but 
be  softened  and  tranquilized  beneath  the  mild  influ 
ence  of  that  clear,  bright,  and  innocent  sky.  "  O 
God  !  "  thought  Ellen  to  herself,  "  why  are  there  such 
cruel  things  as  death,  separation,  illness,  and  tears  ? 
or  why  this  beauty,  this  sweet  feeling  of  hope  ?  why 
the  blessed  assurance  of  an  abiding  home,  an  un 
changeable  defence,  an  eternal  protector  ?  What  mean 
that  smiling,  peace-speaking  heaven ;  this  happy, 
pleasant  earth  of  ours  ?  Can  it  be  that  this  is  our  all, 
that  beyond  us  there  is  nought  but  eternal  cold  and 
silence  ?  Can  it  be  that  we  are  thus  cut  off,  thus  iso 
lated,  and  that  there,  in  that  wide  space  of  infinite 
worlds,  we  have  no  interest  and  no  concern  ?  Why, 
then,  these  aspirations,  and  the  ever-conscious  need 
of  prayer  ?  Is  it  then  impossible  for  us  to  propitiate, 
to  avert,  to  save  ?  O  God  !  is  it  too  hard  for  Thee 
any  longer  to  work  a  miracle  ?  "  She  pressed  her 
hands  to  her  head.  "  Enough  !  "  she  half  murmured 
aloud.  "  But  is  it  in  truth  enough  ?  I  was  so  happy, 
not  for  a  minute,  an  hour,  or  a  day,  but  for  months 


On  the  Eve.  I/T  »  -r  255 

together.  And  what  right  had  I  to\raojr-all  this  hap 
piness  ?  "  The  memory  of  the  past  happS^s&alarmed 
her.  "  But  if  it  cannot  be  ?  "  she  thought.  "  If  it  be 
given  only  to  those  who  can  profit  by  it  ?  Evidently 
it  is  the  gift  of  heaven,  and  we  are  mere  mortals, 
poor  sinful  creatures.  Morir  si  giovane  !  Away,  dark 
presentiment !  Not  for  me  alone  is  his  life  necessary. 

"  But  if  it  be  punishment,1''  she  thought  again,  "if 
we  have  now  to  pay  the  full  penalty  of  our  sin  ? 
True,  my  conscience  is  at  ease,  even  now  it  makes  no 
reproach ;  but  is  that  necessarily  a  proof  of  inno 
cence  ?  Great  God  !  are  we  then,  for  this,  criminals 
in  Thy  sight  ?  Can  it  be  that  Thou,  maker  of  this 
night  and  this  fair  sky,  wilt  punish  us  because  we 
have  loved  and  love  ?  But  if  it  be  so,  if  he  be  guilty, 
if  I  have  sinned,"  she  silently  prayed  in  a  sudden  and 
overpowering  transport,  "  then  grant  to  him,  Thou 
good  God,  grant  to  us  both,  that  at  last  we  may  die 
an  honorable  and  a  noble  death,  there,  in  his  native 
land,  but  not  here,  in  this  dull  stifling  room  ! 

"  And  the  sorrow  of  the  poor  lonely  mother  ? " 
Ellen  asked  herself,  and  was  frightened  at  the  ques 
tion,  and  could  find  no  answer  to  quiet  her  fears. 
Ellen  did  not  know  that  each  man's  happiness  is 
founded  on  another's  misery,  that,  like  a  statue,  his 
profit  and  comfort  require  a  pedestal,  and  that 
pedestal  is  invariably  the  loss  and  wretchedness  of 
another. 

"  Renditch !  "  muttered  Insaroff  in  his  sleep. 


256  On  the  Eve. 

Ellen  went  softly  up  to  him  on  tip-toe,  leaned  over 
him,  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face.  He 
moved  restlessly  on  the  pillow,  and  then  lay  quiet 
again. 

She  returned  to  her  seat  by  the  window,  and  was 
again  filled  with  uneasy  thoughts.  She  began  to 
reason  with  herself,  and  tried  to  persuade  herself  that 
there  was  no  cause  for  fear.  She  even  grew  ashamed 
of  what  she  called  her  weakness.  "  Can  there  be 
any  danger  ?  Is  he  not  much  better  to-day  ? "  she 
asked  herself.  "  Of  course  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
theatre  to-night,  no  such  thoughts  would  ever  have 
come  into  my  head."  At  that  instant  she  saw,  high 
above  the  water,  a  white  sea-gull,  that  had  evidently 
been  frightened  by  some  fishermen,  and  was  flying  in 
an  uncertain  course,  as  if  seeking  some  place  where 
it  could  safely  alight.  "  If  it  only  fly  hither,"  thought 
Ellen,  "  that  will  be  a  good  sign  !  "  The  bird  hovered 
and  flitted  for  a  few  minutes  near  the  window,  folded 
its  wings  as  if  to  settle  down, — and  then,  as  though  it 
had  been  shot,  fell  down  with  a  piteous  cry  on  to  the 
deck  of  a  boat  in  the  dark  distance.  Ellen  shuddered 
at  the  omen,  though  she  felt  ashamed  at  having  shud 
dered,  and,  without  undressing,  lay  down  on  the  bed 
by  the  side  of  Insaroff,  who  was  breathing  heavily 
and  with  difficulty. 


On  the  Eve.  757 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

DEATH. 

"TNSAROFF  awoke  on  the  following  morning  with  a 
-*-  dull  pain  in  his  head,  and  an  ugly  feeling  of  weak 
ness,  as  he  expressed  it,  in  his  whole  body ;  but  he 
got  up  as  usual. 

"  Hasn't  Renditch  come  ?  "  was  his  first  question. 

"  Not  yet,"  answered  Ellen,  and  gave  him  the  last 
number  of  the  Osservatore  Triestino,  which  was  almost 
entirely  filled  up  with  news  about  the  war,  the 
Sclavonic  races,  and  the  Principalities.  Insaroff  be 
gan  reading,  whilst  she  busied  herself  with  preparing 
his  coffee.  There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Renditch,"  thought  both  of  them,  but  as  the 
door  opened  a  voice  was  heard  to  ask  in  Russian, 
"  Can  I  come  in  ?  "  Ellen  and  Insaroff  looked  at  one 
another  in  surprise,  but,  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
the  stranger,  who  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion, 
and  who  had  a  small  pert  face  with  sharp  eyes,  en 
tered  the  room.  He  was  smiling,  and  looked  as 
pleased  as  if  he  had  just  won  a  large  sum  of  money 
or  received  some  pleasant  news.  Insaroff  rose  from 
his  chair. 


258  On  the  Eve. 

"You  do  not  know  me  ?"  said  the  stranger,  as  he 
came  up  to  him  and  at  the  same  time  bowed  in  a 
friendly  manner  to  Ellen.  "  LupoyarofT ;  you  recol 
lect,  we  used  to  meet  at  the  Dolochoffs,  at  Moscow." 

"Ah  yes,  at  the  Dolochoffs,"  replied  InsarofT. 

"  Of  course,  of  course ;  but  I  beg  of  you  to  in 
troduce  me  to  your  wife.  Madame,  I  have  always 
had  the  greatest  esteem  for  Demetrius  Vasilievitch  " — 
he  corrected  himself — "  for  Nikanor  Vasilievitch,  and 
am  very  happy  at  last  to  have  the  pleasure  of  making 
your  acquaintance.  Imagine,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  Insaroff,  "it  was  only  yesterday  evening  that  I 
knew  you  were  here.  I'm  stopping  at  this  hotel  too. 
What  a  glorious  city  this  Venice  is — poetry,  simple 
poetry !  Only  one  thing  is  horrible,  at  every  step 
you  meet  those  damned  Austrians — I  cannot  bear 
them  !  By  the  way,  have  you  heard  that  there  has 
been  a  decisive  engagement  on  the  Danube ;  300 
Turkish  officers  killed,  Silistria  taken,  and 'Serbia's  in 
dependence  already  declared.  Is  it  not  true  that  you, 
as  a  patriot,  ought  to  be  enthusiastic  ?  I  too  feel  my 
Sclavonic  blood  boiling  within  me  !  But  I  advise  you 
to  be  more  cautious ;  I  am  told  you  are  watched. 
The  spying  system  is  carried  on  here  to  a  frightful 
extent.  Only  yesterday  a  suspicious-looking  fellow 
came  up  to  me,  and  said,  Are  you  a  Russian  ?  I  told 
him  that  I  was  a  Dane.  But  you  seem  to  be  very  ill, 
my  dear  Nikanor  Vasilievitch.  You  must  physic 
yourself  a  little.  Madame,  you  ought  really  to  get 


On  the  Eve.  259 

medical  advice  for  your  husband.  Yesterday  I  was 
running  about  like  a  madman,  doing  the  palaces  and 
churches.  I  suppose  you  have  been  to  the  Doge's 
palace.  What  magnificence  everywhere !  Particu 
larly  that  large  saloon,  and  the  place  of  Marino 
Falieri,  with  the  black  veil  and  inscription,  i  Decap- 
itati  pro  criminibus?  I  have  been  in  the  principal 
prisons  too,  and  there  my  soul  was  filled  with  indig 
nation  :  you,  perhaps,  remember  I  always  liked  to  oc 
cupy  myself  with  social  questions  and  am  a  staunch 
anti-aristocrat ;  well,  let  those  who  defend  the  aris 
tocracy  just  go  and  visit  those  dungeons.  Byron  has 
well  said,  '  I  stood  in  Venice,  on  the  bridge  of  sighs  J 
though  by  the  way  Byron  himself  was  an  aristocrat. 
I  have  always  been  for  progress.  All  the  young 
generation  is  for  progress.  But  this  Anglo-French 
alliance !  We  shall  see  whether  they  will  do  much, 
Napoleon  and  Palmerston.  You  know  Palmerston  is 
made  Prime  Minister.  No ;  you  may  say  what  you 
like,  but  a  Russian  fist  is  no  joking  matter.  That 
Napoleon  is  a  terrible  rogue  !  If  you  like,  I  will  lend 
you  Les  Chatiments  de  Victor  Hugo — marvellous ! 
Uavenir,  le  gendarme  de  Dieu,  is  somewhat  daring  in 
its  style,  but  it  has  strength,  strength,  great  strength. 
I  am  very  fond  of  poetry.  I  have  also  got  Proudhon's 
last  book ;  in  fact,  I  have  everything.  I  do  not  know 
what  you  think,  but  I  am  glad  the  war  has  begun  ; 
only,  as  I  am  not  wanted  at  home,  I  mean  to  go  from 
here  to  Florence,  and  on  to  Rome  :  1  cannot  go  to 


26c  On  the  Eve. 

France,  so  think  of  Spain ;  charming  women  there, 
only  such  terrible  poverty  and  such  swarms  of  in 
sects  !  I  would  be  off  to  California — one  can't  see 
too  much  of  the  world — but  I  have  promised  an  ed 
itor  to  study  in  detail  the  question  of  the  Mediter 
ranean  trade.  You  will  say  it  is  not"  an  interesting 
subject,  too  technical,  but  that  is  just  what  we  Rus 
sians  want,  special  subjects,  practical  business  sub 
jects  ;  we  have  philosophised  long  enough.  But 
really,  you  are  very  unwell,  Nikanor  Vasilievitch,  and 
perhaps  I  tire  you ;  but  all  the  same,  you  must  let  me 
stop  a  little  longer." 

And  in  this  fashion  Lupoyaroff  chattered  on  for 
another  hour,  and  when  he  did  leave  promised  to 
come  again  before  long. 

Insaroff  was  tired  out  with  this  unexpected  visit, 
and  lay  down  on  the  sofa.  "  And  that,"  he  muttered 
bitterly,  as  he  looked  up  at  Ellen,  "  is  our  rising  gen 
eration,  our  young  Russia!  They  give  themselves 
grand  airs,  and  talk  mighty  fine  ;  but  it  is  all  talk,  and 
there  it  ends." 

Ellen  made  no  reply.  At  that  moment  Insaroff s 
weakness  disquieted  her  far  more  than  the  follies  of 
all  young  Russia.  She  sat  down  by  his  side,  and  took 
up  her  work.  He  shut  his  eyes,  and  lay  motionless, 
all  pale  and  haggard.  Ellen  looked  at  his  sharply 
defined  profile,  his  thin  hands,  and  sudden  fear  seized 
upon  her  heart. 

"  Demetrius,1''  she  began. 


On  the  Eve.  261 

He  roused  himself,  but  evidently  with  an  effort. 
"  What  is  it  ?  Has  Renditch  arrived  ?  " 

"  Not  yet ;  but  what  do  you  think — you  are  very 
heated — you  are  really  not  quite  well — would  it  not 
be  wiser  to  send  for  a  doctor?" 

"That  fool's  talk  has  frightened  you.  It  is  not 
at  all  necessary.  I  will  take  a  short  nap,  and  shall 
be  all  right  again.  After  dinner  we  will  go  out  again 
somewhere  or  other." 

Two  hours  passed.  Insaroff  was  still  lying  on  the 
sofa,  unable  to  sleep,  though  he  kept  his  eyes  closed. 
Ellen  remained  by  his  side,  her  work  had  fallen  from 
her  hands,  and  there  she  sat,  her  eyes  fixed  on  her 
husband's  pale  face. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep  ?  "  she  asked  him  at 
last. 

"  Wait  a  little  ;  there  !  "  he  said,  taking  one  of  her 
hands,  and  placing  it  under  his  head ;  "  there  !  that 
is  good  !  But  wake  me  the  instant  Renditch  comes. 
If  he  says  the  ship  is  ready,  why,  we  can  set  off  direct 
ly.  Perhaps  we  had  better  be  packing  up." 

"  Oh,  that  will  not  take  long,"  answered  Ellen. 

"  That  man  said  something  about  a  battle,  about 
Serbia,"  continued  Insaroff,  after  a  short  silence  j 
"  but  I  don't  suppose  it  is  true.  We  must  however 
be  starting,  the  sooner  the  better.  It  will  never  do  to 
lose  time.  Be  ready." 

He  fell  asleep,  and  all  was  quiet  in  the  room. 

Ellen  leaned  her  head  on  the  back  of  the  sofa, 


262  On  the  Eve. 

and  gazed  wistfully  toward  the  window.  The  weath 
er  had  changed  for  the  worse,  and  the  wind  was 
rising.  Large  white  clouds  flitted  across  the  sky,  a 
thin  mast  was  rocking  to  and  fro  in  the  distance,  a 
long  and  narrow  streamer  with  a  red  cross  was  flutter 
ing  in  the  breeze.  The  pendulum  of  the  clock  stand 
ing  on  a  side-table  ticked  loudly,  and  with  a  kind  of 
melancholy  sound.  Ellen's  eyes  were  heavy,  but  it 
was  long  before  she  fell  asleep,  and  then  her  sleep 
was  broken  and  restless. 

She  had  a  strange  and  horrible  dream.  She 
thought  that  she  was  in  a  boat  on  one  of  the  Czarit- 
china  lakes,  with  some  people  who  were  unknown  to 
her.  They  were  all  silent  and  motionless ;  no  one 
was  rowing,  but  the  boat  moved  onward  of  itself. 
This  did  not  strike  Ellen  as  strange,  but  she  was  dull : 
she  longed  to  find  out  who  these  people  were,  and 
why  she  was  with  them.  She  looked  around  her,  and 
the  lake  suddenly  grew  broader,  and  the  shores  re 
tired  farther  and  farther :  it  was  no  longer  the  lake, 
but  the  wide  and  restless  ocean.  Its  huge,  azure, 
dumb  waves  dashed  against  the  frail  and  tiny  boat; 
something  with  a  loud  and  terrible  roar  rose  up  from 
the  depths  of  the  ocean;  her  unknown  companions 
suddenly  leaped  overboard  with  a  hideous  shrieking 
and  wringing  of  hands.  Then  for  the  first  time  Ellen 
recognized  them ;  her  father  was  one  of  them.  A 
white  crest  of  foam  flew  along  the  summit  of  the 
waves,  and  in  an  instant  all  was  swallowed  up. 


On  the  Eve.  263 

Ellen  looked  about  her;  all  the  surroundings 
were  as  before;  but  everywhere  was  snow,  snow,  end 
less  snow.  And  she  was  no  longer  in  the  boat,  but 
was  travelling,  as  it  were,  from  Moscow  in  a  carriage  : 
she  was  not  alone ;  by  her  side  was  sitting  a  little 
creature,  wrapped  up  in  an  old  cloak.  Ellen  looked 
at  her  more  attentively ;  it  was  Kate,  her  poor  friend 
and  playmate.  A  sudden  fear  fell  upon  Ellen.  But 
surely  she  died  ?  she  thought  to  herself.  "  Kate,  where 
are  we  going  so  fast  ?  "  Kate  made  no  answer,  but 
muffled  her  face  in  the  cloak,  for  she  was  shivering 
with  cold.  Ellen  too  was  cold.  She  looked  out 
along  the  road ;  a  city  is  glistening  in  the  distance 
through  the  drifting  clouds  of  snow — lofty  white 
towers  with  silvered  pinnacles.  Kate,  Kate,  is  this 
Moscow  ?  No,  Ellen  thought,  that  is  a  monastery  ; 
there  are  a  number  of  dark,  dark  cells ;  all  is  close 
and  damp  there ;  and  there  Demetrius  is  confined. 
I  must  free  him.  Suddenly  a  grey  yawning  precipice 
stretches  before  her.  The  carriage  falls  into  it,  but 
Kate  only  laughs.  "  Ellen,  Ellen  !  "  a  voice  is  heard 
to  cry  from  the  bottom  of  the  precipice. 

"  Ellen  !  JJ  is  heard,  but  this  time  clearly  and  dis 
tinctly,  close  to  her  ear.  She  hurriedly  raised  her 
head  and  was  struck  dumb  with  fright.  Insaroff, 
white  as  the  snow  in  her  dream.,  was  leaning  over  the 
sofa,  gazing  at  her  with  his  large,  clear,  glittering  eyes. 
His  hair  hung  over  his  forehead,  and  his  mouth  was 
wide  open.  Terror,  mingled  with  an  expression  of 


264  On  the  Eve. 

loving  fear,  was  depicted  on  his  suddenly  transfigured 
face. 

"  Ellen  !  "  he  muttered,  "  I  am  dying." 

With  a  cry  she  fell  on  her  knees,  and  clung  con 
vulsively  to  his  breast. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  repeated  Insaroff;  "  I  am  dying : 
farewell,  my  poor  wife  !  farewell,  my  darling !  "  And 
saying  this,  he  fell  back  on  the  sofa. 

Ellen  ran  out  of  the  room  to  call  for  aid,  and  a 
servant  was  sent  to  summon  a  doctor.  She  came 
back,  and  sat  down  at  Insaroff's  feet. 

At  that  moment  there  appeared  on  the  threshold 
of  the  door  a  broad-shouldered,  sunburnt  stranger, 
wearing  a  thick  paletot  and  a  low  cloth  cap.  He 
stood  hesitatingly  by  the  door. 

"'  Renditch  !  "  cried  Ellen  "  it  is  you  !  For  God's 
sake,  come  in  and  see  what  is  the  matter  with  him ! 
He  is  ill !  O  God,  O  God,  what  is  it  ?  He  was  out 
only  yesterday,  and  just  now  was  talking  with  me." 

Renditch  made  no  answer,  but  gave  way  to  a  short 
man  in  a  wig  and  spectacles  who  hurried  past  with  a 
quick  and  noiseless  step,  up  to  the  sofa.  It  was  the 
doctor. 

"  Signora,"  he  said  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"  Monsieur  is  dead — il  signore  forestieree  morto — of 
aneurism,  accompanied  with  an  inflammation  of  the 
lungs." 


On  the  Eve.  265 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DEPARTURE    FROM    VENICE. 

ON  the  next  day,  in  the  same  room,  Renditch  was 
standing  by  the  window :  Ellen  was  sitting  close 
to  him,  wrapped  up  in  a  warm  shawl.  In  the  adjoin 
ing  room  Insaroff  was  laid  out  in  his  coffin.  Ellen's 
face  wore  a  frightened  and  lifeless  expression ;  the 
forehead,  between  the  brows,  was  deeply  wrinkled, 
which  gave  a  strained  and  sharp  look  to  her  dull  fixed 
eyes.  On  the  window-ledge  was  lying  an  opened  let 
ter  from  Anne  Vasilievna.  She  invited  her  daughter 
to  Moscow,  if  it  were  only  for  a  month ;  complained 
of  her  loneliness,  and  still  more  bitterly  of  Nicholas 
Artemvitch ;  begged  to  be  remembered  to  Insaroff, 
inquired  after  his  health,  and  prayed  him  to  let  his 
wife  come  and  see  her. 

Renditch  was  a  Dalmatian,  a  seaman  by  profes 
sion,  whose  acquaintance  Insaroff  had  made  during 
his  last  visit  to  Bulgaria,  and  whom  he  had  been  wait 
ing  for  in  Venice.  He  was  of  a  taciturn  tempera 
ment,  unpolished  in  his  bearing,  very  courageous,  and 
devoted  heart  and  soul  to  the  Sclavonic  cause.  Ho 
despised  the  Turks,  and  hated  the  Austrians. 


266  On  the  Eve. 

"  How  long  do  you  mean  to  stay  in  Venice  ? " 
Ellen  asked  him  in  Italian ;  and  her  voice  was  as 
lifeless  as  her  countenance. 

"  A  day,  to  get  the  cargo  on  board,  and  not  to 
arouse  suspicion.  I  shall  have  heavy  news  for  our 
fellow-countrymen.  They  have  been  waiting  for  him 
a  long  time,  and  had  great  confidence  in  him." 

"  They  had  great  confidence  in  him,"  Ellen  re 
peated  mechanically. 

"  When  shall  you  bury  him  ?  "  Renditch  asked. 

Ellen  did  not  answer  at  once.     "  To-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  ?  then  I  will  wait :  I  should  like  to 
throw  a  handful  of  earth  into  his  grave.  Perhaps 
too,  I  can  be  of  use  to  you.  But  it  were  better  to  lay 
him  in  Sclavonic  earth." 

Ellen  looked  up  at  Renditch.  "  Captain,"  she 
said,  "  take  me  with  him,  and  bring  us  to  the  other 
side  of  the  sea,  away  from  here  ; — or  is  it  impossible  ?  " 

Renditch  thought  for  a  while.  "  It  is  possible  but 
difficult.  We  shall  have  to  manage  these  damned 
authorities  here.  But  suppose  we  succeed  in  burying 
him  there,  how  shall  I  get  you  back  again  ? " 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary  for  you  to  send  me 
back. 

"  How  ?     Where  will  you  stop  then  ?  " 

"  I  shall  find  a  place  somewhere  or  other.  Only 
take  us,  take  me." 

"  Renditch  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully.  "  Good 
but  there  will  be  a  terrible  fuss.  However,  I  will  go 


On  the  Eve.  267 

and  see  about  it.     You  wait  for  me  here.     I  shall  be 
back  in  two  hours'  time." 

He  left  Ellen  alone.  She  went  softly  into  the  ad 
joining  room,  and,  leaning  wearily  against  the  wall, 
stood  for  a  long  time  motionless  like  a  statue.  Then 
she  fell  on  her  knees,  but  could  not  pray.  She  did 
not  feel  rebellious  against  the  will  of  Providence  :  she 
did  not  care  to  question  God  as  to  why  He  had  been  so 
merciless,  so  pitiless,  so  slow  to  succour  ;  did  not  care 
to  ask  why  He  had  visited  the  sin,  if  sin  there  were, 
more  heavily  than  it  deserved.  Each  one  of  us  sins 
in  that  he  merely  lives ;  nor  is  there  a  great  thinker 
or  benefactor  of  humanity,  who,  by  reason  of  his  wis 
dom  or  by  reason  of  his  goodness,  can  believe  that 
he  has  a  right  to  live.  But  Ellen  could  not  pray; 
she  was  without  life,  without  feeling. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  a  large  broad  boat  was 
pushed  off  from  the  hotel  where  the  Insaroffs  were 
staying.  Ellen  and  Renditch  were  sitting  in  the  boat, 
and  close  to  them  there  stood  a  long  box,  covered 
with  black  cloth.  After  about  an  hour's  rowing  they 
pulled  up  by  the  side  of  a  small  two-masted  ship,  which 
was  lying  at  anchor  at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor. 
Ellen  and  Renditch  went  on  board,  and  some  sailors 
hoisted  up  the  box.  Towards  the  morning  a  storm 
arose,  but  the  ship  quickly  made  her  way  down  the 
Lido.  In  the  course  of  the  day  the  storm  grew  more 
violent,  aud  the  old  sailors  shook  their  heads,  and 
boded  no  g*:od.  The  Adriatic  Sea  between  Venice, 


268  On  the  Eve. 

Trieste,  and  Dalmatia  is  extremely  rough  and  danger 
ous. 

Within  three  weeks  of  Ellen's  departure  from 
Venice,  Anne  Vasilievna  received  the  following  letter 
in  Moscow : — 

"  MY  DEAR  PARENTS  : 

"  I  write  to  bid  you  good-bye  for  ever.  You  will 
never  see  me  again.  Demetrius  died  yesterday.  All  is  finished, 
and  I  have  nothing  more  to  live  for.  To-day  I  start  for  Zara 
with  his  body.  I  shall  bury  him  there,  but  what  1  shall  do  after 
wards  I  do  not  know.  Now  I  have  no  country,  except  his. 
There  a  general  rising  is  preparing,  war  will  soon  break  out,  and 
I  can  engage  myself  as  a  sister  of  mercy,  to  attend  the  sick  and 
wounded.  I  do  not  know  what  will  become  of  me ;  but  now 
that  Demetrius  is  dead,  I  must  remain  faithful  to  his  memory, 
to  the  cause  to  which  he  devoted  his  life.  I  have  learned  Bul 
garian  and  Serbian.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  not  survive  all  this ; 
so  much  the  better.  I  have  been  brought  to  the  edge  of  the 
abyss ;  God  grant  that  I  may  fall  into  it.  It  is  not  in  vain  that 
fate  united  us  together :  who  knows  but  that  I  may  have  caused 
his  death  ?  it  is  now  his  turn  to  call  me  to  share  his  destiny.  I 
sought  happiness — and  shall  find,  it  may  be,  death.  I  can  see 
now  it  was  to  be  ;  I  can  see  now  where  the  sin  was.  But  death 
covers  all  offences,  and  atones  for  all ; — does  it  not  ?  Pardon  me 
the  sorrow  I  have  caused  you  ;  it  was  not  voluntarily.  But  to 
return  to  Russia — for  what  ?  What  have  I  to  do  in  Russia  ? 
accept  my  last  kiss,  my  last  remembrances.  Do  not  blame  me, 
or  judge  me  harshly. — E." 


On  the  Eve.  269 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

CONCLUSION. 

NEARLY  five  years  have  passed  away  since  that 
letter  was  written  from  Venice,  and  nothing 
further  has  ever  been  heard  of  Ellen.  Letters  written 
from  home  have  remained  unanswered  and  all  inquiries 
have  proved  fruitless.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that 
Nicholas  Artemvitch  himself  went  to  Venice,  and 
thence  after  the  conclusion  of  the  war  to  Zara :  in 
Venice  he  only  learned  what  the  reader  already  knows, 
and  in  Zara  he  could  meet  with  no  one  who  was  able 
to  give  him  any  positive  information  respecting  either 
Renditch,  or  the  ship  in  which  he  and  Ellen  had  set 
sail  from  Venice.  There  were  indeed  mysterious  ru 
mors  of  the  sea,  during  a  heavy  storm  some  four  or 
five  years  back,  having  washed  ashore  a  black  coffin, 
in  which  was  found  the  corpse  of  a  man.  But  ac 
cording  to  other  and  more  trustworthy  reports,  this 
coffin  was  not  washed  ashore  by  the  sea,  but  was 
brought  and  buried  near  the  sea-shore  by  a  foreign 
lady  who  had  just  arrived  from  Venice :  some  even 
added,  that  she  had  been  later  seen  at  Herzhaven 
with  the  army  that  was  then  being  levied,  and  they 


270  On  the  Eve. 

also  described  her  as  being  dressed  in  black  from 
head  to  foot.  However  all  this  may  be,  every  trace 
of  Ellen  has  been  lost,  and  no  one  knows  whether  she 
is  living,  whether  she  has  sought  refuge  in  some  dis 
tant  and  foreign  land,  whether  the  short  comedy  of 
life  has  been  played  out,  her  brief  troubles  ended, 
and  death  in  its  turn  has  come  to  make  its  claim.  It 
will  often  happen  that  a  man,  with  involuntary  appre 
hension,  asks  himself,  Can  it  be  that  I  am  already 
thirty — forty — fifty  years  old?  How  is  it  that  life 
passes  so  quickly  ?  How  is  it  that  death  presses  so 
closely  upon  us  ?  Death  is  like  a  fisherman  who  has 
caught  some  fish  in  his  net,  but  leaves  it  for  a  while 
in  the  water ;  the  fish  still  swims  about  and  fancies 
itself  to  be  free,  but  the  net  encircles  it,  and  the  fisher 
man  seizes  hold  of  it  whenever  the  fancy  takes  him. 

A  few  words  remain  to  be  said  concerning  the 
other  personages  of  our  story. 

Anne  Vasilievna  is  still  living :  she  has  aged  very 
much  since  her  daughter's  disappearance,  and,  though 
she  complains  less  than  before,  is  much  more  wretch 
ed  and  miserable.  Nicholas  Artemvitch  has  also 
grown  older  and  weaker  ;  his  quarrels  with  Angustina 
are  more  frequent  now  than  formerly.  Indeed,  of 
late  he  rarely,  if  ever,  visits  her.  He  is  terribly  bitter 
against  everything  foreign.  His  housekeeper,  a 
pretty  Russian  woman  of  about  thirty,  goes  about  in 
the  finest  silk  dresses,  and  wears  a  gold  chain  and 
earrings.  ^  Cournatovsky,  as  is  generally  the  case  with 


On  the  Eve.  271 

dark-complexioned  men,  had  a  great  weakness  for 
pretty  blondines,  and  married  the  fair  Zoe,  who  in  all 
respects  was  such  an  obedient  and  submissive  wife, 
that  she  even  left  off  thinking  in  German.  Bersien- 
eff  resides  in  Heidelberg;  he  has  been  more  than 
once  sent  abroad  by  the  government  on  scientific  ex 
peditions,  and  has  visited  Berlin  and  Paris.  The  time 
he  thus  spent  abroad  was  not  lost,  and  there  is  every 
chance  of  his  turning  out  an  admirable  professor. 
Two  articles  on  ancient  German  law  and  punishment, 
published  by  him,  attracted  considerable  attention  in 
the  learned  world  ;  it  is  only  to  be  regretted  that  they 
were  written  in  rather  a  heavy  style,  and  disfigured 
by  foreign  idioms.  Shoubine  is  at  Rome :  he  has 
long  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  his  art,  and  is  al 
ready  considered  to  be  one  of  the  most  promising  of 
our  young  sculptors.  It  is  true  that  purists  find  that 
he  has  not  sufficiently  studied  the  ancients,  and  is 
deficient  in  style ;  they  accordingly  place  him  in  the 
French  school ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  English 
and  Americans  are  very  liberal  in  their  patronage  of 
the  young  Russian  sculptor.  During  the  last  season, 
his  Bacchante  made  a  great  noise ;  a  Russian,  Count 
Boboschkine,  a  well-known  rich  connoisseur,  pro 
posed  to  buy  it  for  a  thousand  scudi,  but  at  the  last 
moment  changed  his  mind,  and  gave  three  thousand 
to  another  sculptor,  a  Frenchman  pur  sang,  for  a 
statuette  representing  "A  young  villager  dying  of 
love  on  the  breast  of  the  Genius  of  Spring."  Shou- 


272  On  the  Eve. 

bine  now  and  then  corresponds  with  Urban  Ivan- 
ovitch,  who  is  the  same  as  ever,  and  not  in  the  least 
changed.  "  Do  you  remember,"  he  wrote  to  him  not 
long  ago,  "  what  you  told  me  that  night  when  I  brought 
you  the  news  of  poor  Ellen's  marriage,  when  I  sat  on 
your  bed  and  chatted  I  do  not  know  how  long  with 
you  ?  Do  you  remember,  I  then  asked  you  whether 
the  time  would  ever  come  when  there  should  be  men 
among  us  ?  and  you  answered :  Wait  a  little,  there 
will  be.  Oh,  sage  and  solid  reasoner !  And  so  now, 
from  this  my  distant  home,  I  once  more  ask  you,  Tell 
me,  good  Urban,  will  your  prophecy  ever  come  true  ?  " 
Urban  Ivanovitch,  as  he  read  these  lines,  played 
with  his  fingers,  and  with  a  puzzled  glance  looked  out 
of  the  window  of  his  room. 


THE   END. 


14  DAY  USE 

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